Doctor Dolittle's Return

1 Waiting!

Doctor Dolittle had now been in the moon for a little over a year. During that time I, as his secretary, had been in charge of his household at Puddleby–on–the–Marsh. Of course a boy of my age could not take the great man's place—nobody could, for that matter. But I did my best.

At the beginning for a few weeks it was not easy. We were all so anxious and worried about John Dolittle. We did not seem to be able to keep our minds on anything but that he was still in the moon and what might be happening to him. So it was in our talking too: no matter what we started to discuss or chat about, our conversation always ended on the same question.

Yet I do not know what I would have done if it had not been for the animals. Ah, those animals of John Dolittle's! Dab–Dab the duck, the careful housekeeper who spent her life looking after others—even if she did it scolding them most of the time; Jip the dog, brave, generous, happy–go–lucky sportsman, always ready for a good scrap, a good story, a good country walk or a good sleep; Too–Too the owl, silent and mysterious, with ears that could hear a pin drop in the snow, a lightning calculator—you never knew what he was thinking about—but he seemed to guess things, to feel them, witch–like, before they happened; dear, old, clumsy Gub–Gub the pig, always in hot water, taking himself very seriously, for ever treading on somebody's toes but providing the world with lots of fun; Whitey the white mouse, a gossip, very well–behaved, very clean and neat, inquisitive, taking in life every moment and finding it full of interest. What a family! No one, unable to talk the language of birds and beasts, will ever understand how thoughtful and helpful they could be.

Of course, it must not be forgotten that they were very experienced. Never before, I suppose, has a group of animals been gathered under one roof that had seen so much, gone to so many places and done so many things with human beings. This made it possible for them to understand the feelings of people, just as knowing their language made it possible for John Dolittle and myself to understand them and their troubles.

Although I tried hard not to show it, they all knew how miserable I felt about having left the Doctor in the moon, and they did their best to cheer me up. Dab–Dab formed a regular school programme for me for what she called an "advanced course in animal languages." Each night, when there was no moon to be watched—or when it was cloudy—she told off one of the household to play the part of teacher for me. And in this way I was not only able to keep up my Piggish, Owlish, Duckish, Mouser languages and the rest, but I improved a great deal upon what I already knew. I came to understand and use a great many tricky little niceties of meaning which I had never known before.

Of this Gub–Gub the pig, Too–Too the owl, the white mouse and the others of the Doctor's household were very proud. They said that if I kept on at that rate it would not be long before I could talk their different tongues as well as John Dolittle, the greatest naturalist of all time. Of course I could never quite believe that; but it encouraged me a lot just the same.

One who did a great deal to cheer us up in those long days and nights was Cheapside, the London sparrow. Born and brought up in the struggle and strife of a big city, he would not, could not, be beaten by any misfortune. It was not that he did not know and feel the danger the Doctor was in, as much as any of us. But it was part of his character always to look on the bright side of things. He was not with us all the time. He had to pop over (as he called it) to London every once in a while, to see his wife, Becky, and his hundreds of children, cousins and aunts who picked up a living around the cab–ranks near St. Paul's Cathedral and the Royal Exchange.

From these relations he would bring us back all the gossip of the big city, such as that the Queen had a cold in her head (one of Cheapside's nieces had a nest behind a shutter in Buckingham Palace); there was a dog show on at the Agricultural Hall; the Prime Minister had tripped over his own gown, going up the steps at the opening of Parliament, and fallen on his nose; a ship had arrived at the East India Docks with three real live pirates on board, captured in the China Sea, etc. etc.

I could always tell when he had arrived at the Doctor's house by the great commotion raised. Gub–Gub or Jip the dog could be heard yelling in the garden that the little Londoner had come. And no matter how low our spirits were, Cheapside would not be in the house two minutes, chattering and twittering and giggling over his own silly little Cockney jokes, before everybody would be roaring with laughter or listening with great attention to the news he had to tell. He always brought us also the latest comic songs from the city. Some of these that staid old housekeeper, Dab–Dab, said were very vulgar; but I noticed she often had much difficulty to keep from laughing with the rest of us, nevertheless.

"He always brought the latest comic songs from the city"

And then that very extraordinary character, Matthew Mugg, the Cats'–meat–Man, was a comfort to me too. I did not go off the Doctor's place much and there were days when I was lonely for human company. At such times, now and then, Matthew would drop in for a cup of tea, and I was always glad to see him. We would sit and chat over old times, about the Doctor and our adventures, and make guesses as to what he might be doing there, now, up in the moon.

It was a good thing for me that I had plenty to keep me busy, I suppose. Looking after ordinary needs of the house, the garden and the animals was not all I had to attend to. There were the Doctor's instruments—microscopes and all sorts of delicate scientific apparatus which he used in his experiments; these I kept dusted and oiled and in apple–pie order.

Then there were his notes—shelves and shelves full of them. They were very valuable. John Dolittle himself had never been very orderly or careful about his notes, although he would not have had a single page of them lost for anything in the world. He had always said to me, "Stubbins, if ever the house catches fire, remember, save the animals and the notes first and take care of the house afterward."

I therefore felt a great responsibility about those notes. Their safe–keeping was my first duty. And thinking about the possibility of fire I decided to move them away from the house altogether.

So I built a sort of underground library outside. With the help of Jip and Gub–Gub I dug out a place at the end of the garden, tunnelling into the side of a small hill near the old Zoo.

It was a lovely spot. The wide lawn sloped gently up to a rise of about twenty feet, on the top of which a beautiful grove of weeping willows swept the grass with their graceful trailing branches. It was a part of the Doctor's big garden of which I was particularly fond. After we had brrowed out a big hole, the size of a large room, we took stones and timbers and built them into the sides to keep the earth from falling in. We floored it with some more stones; and after we had roofed it over, we covered the roof with earth two feet deep. A door was set on hinges in the front. Then we sowed grass all over the top and the sides, so it looked like the rest of the lawn. Nothing could be seen but the entrance. It was entirely fireproof.

Into this chamber we carried down all the notes which I, as the Doctor's secretary, had made of our travels and doings. From those notes I had written many books about John Dolittle; but there was much more, of course, that I had not put into books—purely scientific stuff which the ordinary readers would not be interested in.

Gub–Gub called it the Underground Dolittle Library, and he was very proud of having helped in the building of it. Not only that, but he was still more proud that his name was so often mentioned in those stacks and stacks of writing which we piled against the walls inside. On winter nights the animals often asked me to read aloud to them by the big kitchen fire, the same as the Doctor had done. And Gub–Gub always wanted me to read those parts from the books which spoke about him. He liked particularly to hear about himself and his great performances in the days of the Puddleby Pantomime. The other animals were not always pleased at this.

"Oh, gosh, Gub–Gub!" said Jip. "I should think you'd get tired of hearing about yourself all the time."

"But why?" said Gub–Gub. "Am I not the most important pig in history?"

"Poof!" growled Jip in disgust—"Most important pig on the garbage heap, you mean!"

But the day came when, as general manager of the Doctor's home, I found myself in difficulties. You cannot keep a family of animals and yourself on nothing at all. What money I had made shortly after my own return from the moon was all used up. True, a good deal of food could be raised on the place. Wild ducks (friends of Dab–Dab's) brought us eggs. With the animals' help I kept the garden in very good condition. I pruned the apple–trees as the Doctor had told me; and the kitchen garden was always well planted with vegetables.

Gub–Gub the pig was the one most interested in this. Although his habit of digging with his nose instead of a spade was somewhat untidy, he was a great help in keeping watch over everything as it grew. A pig was much better for this—in many ways–than a gardener. "Tommy," he would say, "the cut–worms are getting at the celery roots." Or, "Tommy, the caterpillars are spoiling the cabbages—and the new spinach needs watering."

Some of the vegetables I exchanged with neighbours, who had farms, for milk; and after I had learned how to make cheese from milk I could supply the white mouse with his favourite food.

But money in cash I needed for a lot of other household things like candles, matches and soap. And some of the animals, although they were not meat–eaters, could not be fed from the garden. For instance, there was the old lame horse in the stable whom the Doctor had told me especially to look after. The hay and the oats in his stable were all gone. What grass he could eat from the lawns was already cropped down to the roots. He must have oats to keep his strength up. No, there was nothing for it; I must make some money, earn some money. But how?

2 The Cats'-meat-man's Advice

I went into the garden to think. I always seemed to be able to think better in that great garden of the Doctor's than anywhere else. I wandered down towards the new library and from there into the Zoo. This quiet spot, enclosed by high walls on which the peach–trees grew, had once been a very busy place. Here we had kept the Rat and Mouse Club, the Home for Cross–bred Dogs, and all the other institutions for animals' comfort and happiness. They were all deserted now, with nothing but a few early swallows skimming over the grass which the old lame horse had nibbled short and neat and trim.

I felt very sad. Nothing seemed the same without the Doctor. I began pacing to and fro, thinking about my problem. I heard the latch in the garden door click. I turned. There stood Matthew Mugg, the Cats'–meat–Man.

"Oh, hulloa, Matthew!" I cried. "I'm glad to see you."

"My, Tommy!" said he. "You do look serious. Anything the matter?"

"Yes, Matthew," I said. "I've got to get a job–must make some money. Need it for housekeeping."

"Well, what kind of a job do you want?" he asked.

"Any kind, Matthew," said I—"any kind that I can get."

"'Ave you been to your father about it? Why can't you 'elp 'im in 'is business and earn money that way?"

He started walking back and forth at my side.

"Yes, I've been to see my parents. But it wasn't much use. Father's business is too small for him to need an assistant—even if I were any good at shoemaking, which I'm not."

"Humph!" said the Cats'–meat–Man. "Let me think."

"You see," I said, "it can't be a job which will take me away from here. There is too much that I must attend to—the garden and the rest. And besides, there's the Doctor's return. I wouldn't be away from here at the moment he gets home for anything in the world. You haven't told any one about our trip to the moon, have you, Matthew?" He tapped his pipe out against the heel of his boot.

"Not a word, Tommy, not a word." "That's right, Matthew. It must be kept an absolute secret. We have no idea what he will be like to look at when he arrives. We don't want newspapermen coming around and writing up reports."

"No," said Matthew. "That would bring the whole world clattering at the gates. Everybody would want to 'ave a look at the man from the moon."

"Quite so, Matthew; that's another reason why I have to have a job. I don't know what the Doctor may need when he gets here. He may be sick; he may need special kinds of food. And I haven't a penny in the house."

"I know, I know," said Matthew, shaking his head. "Money, money, money, what a curse it is!—as the good man said himself. Can't seem to do nothing without it though. But look 'ere, Tommy, you shouldn't 'ave no trouble findin' a job. 'Cause you got eddication, see?"

"Well, I've some education, Matthew. But what good does it do me here in Puddleby? If I was able to get away and go to London, now, that would be different."

"Oh, listen," said the Cats'–meat–Man. "You boys all think you 'ave to go to London to make yer fortunes—same as Dick Whittington. But young men what 'as eddication can make a good livin' 'ere in Puddleby. You can read and write and do 'rithmetic. Why can't you be a clerk in the Puddleby Bank, or a secketary, or somethin' like that?';

"But, Matthew," I cried, "don't you see? I'd have to stay at work in the town after it was dark—in the winter months anyhow. And as you know the Doctor told me to watch the moon for signals of his coming down. Of course it is true the animals take their turns too, watching for the smoke signals. But I would have to be there even if I'm sleeping, so that I could be called at once if—er—if—"

I don't exactly know why I broke off without finishing what I had to say. But I suppose my voice must have sounded uncertain, puzzled and upset; because Matthew suddenly looked up from refilling his pipe and said:

"But, Tommy, you ain't worried, are yer?—I mean, about the Doctor's returnin'. You feel sure 'e is comin' back from the moon?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "I suppose so."

"Suppose so!" cried Matthew. "Why, of course 'e will, Tommy! John Dolittle's one of them men what never comes to 'arm. 'E'll get back all right. Don't you worry."

"But supposing the Moon Man won't let him come?" I said.

"It'll take a good deal more than a bloomin' Moon Man to stop John Dolittle from gettin' away if 'e wants to."

"Well, but—er—Matthew," I said, "I sometimes wonder if he does want to come back."

Matthew's eyebrows went up higher than ever.

"Want to come back!" he gasped. "What d'yer mean?"

"Matthew Mugg," I said, "you know the Doctor cannot be judged the same as other folk. I mean, you never can tell what he'll do next. We found a very curious state of affairs in the moon. It is a year now since he has been gone. I haven't said anything about it to the animals in the house here, but the last few weeks I've begun to wonder if John Dolittle has not perhaps decided to stay on the moon—for good."

"Oh, what an idea, Tommy!" said he. "Why would 'e want to do that? From what you told me about the moon, it didn't sound like a pleasant place at all."

"It was not an unpleasant place, Matthew. It was very strange and creepy at first. But when you got used to it—no, you could not call it unpleasant. Dreadfully lonely, but the most peaceful place either the. Doctor or I had ever seen."

"Well, but, Tommy, you don't mean to tell me that a busy man like John Dolittle would throw up all the things 'e's interested in 'ere on the earth and settle down on the moon, just for the sake of peace and quiet?"

"He might, Matthew," I answered sadly. "I've often remembered, since I left him, something he said when we first learned about the Moon Council, from the whispering vines up there. 'Our world,' he said, 'down on the earth is dog eat dog. Fighting, fighting all the time. Here in the moon they manage things better. Life is arranged and balanced. Even the plants and trees are not allowed to crowd one another out. The birds, instead of eating up the bees and insects, eat up the extra seed of the plants and flowers so they will not spread too fast.' You see, Matthew, the Great Council of Moon Life planned and watched over everything so that peace reigned—in an almost perfect world. You can understand how such a state of things would appeal to a man like John Dolittle. Don't you see what I mean?"

"Er—yes, partly," muttered Matthew. "Go on."

"What I'm afraid of is this," I said. "We had the same difficulty with him on Spidermonkey Island. When he found that he was doing a fine work there, getting the Indians to give up war and become civilized—in a very special way, without money and all that—he wanted to stay there. Said the island and the people couldn't get on without him—that no work he had ever done in Puddleby or anywhere else could compare with what he was doing in Spidermonkey. All of us, Prince Bumpo, Long Arrow the Indian naturalist and myself, begged him to leave. And I'm sure he never would have left if it hadn't been for me. He felt it was his duty to get me back to my parents. If I could have stayed on the moon with him he would have come back here for the same reason. But after I got kidnapped by the Moon Man and shipped out on the giant moth he won't have to worry about me. And there is nothing to stop him from staying as long as he likes—if he thinks he's doing more good up there than he can down here. Now do you see?"

"Yes, but what I don't see is, 'ow 'e can be doing any good up there."

"Why, by looking after the Moon Man, Matthew. The Doctor had often told me that Otho Bludge, the only man in the moon and the President of the Life Council, was the greatest human being that ever lived. He might be ignorant according to the ideas of a country bumpkin or a nine–year–old schoolboy down here—he could hardly be otherwise, born in the Stone Age as he was; but his was the brain that worked out the Moon Council and all that it did. And his was the hand that held it together and kept it working. His great trouble, as I've told you, was rheumatism. 'Stubbins,' the Doctor said to me, 'if anything ever happens to Otho Bludge I fear it will be the end of the Council. And the end of the Council must mean that all this great work they have built up for happy peaceful living will fall apart and crumble away.'"

Matthew frowned.

"Well, but still I can't imagine, Tommy," said he, "that the Doctor would chuck up all 'is connections down 'ere just for the sake of plants and insects and birds on the moon. After all, this is the world what 'e was born in."

"Oh, I don't mean that he would forget us all down here, thoughtlessly, or anything like that. You know how utterly unselfish he is. That's just the point. Any other man would think of himself and his home and his own comforts first; and would hurry down to the earth as quick as he could and spend the rest of his life boasting about his great adventures. But not so John Dolittle. If he thinks it is necessary to act as doctor for the Moon Man, he might stay on and on and on. He has for many years now been dreadfully disappointed in human beings and their stupid, unfair treatment of animals. And another thing: we discovered that life seemed to go on to tremendous lengths up there. Some of the talking plants told us that they were thousands of years old—the bees and birds too. And the age of the Moon Man himself is so great that not even the Doctor could calculate it."

"Humph!" said Matthew thoughtfully. "Strange place, the moon."

"I've sometimes wondered," I added, "if the Doctor had some ideas about everlasting life."

"What do you mean, Tommy?—Living for ever?"

"Yes, for the Moon Man—and perhaps for himself, for John Dolittle, as well. That vegetable diet, you know. A world where nobody, nothing dies! Maybe that's what he sees. If the Moon Man is wearing out a little now—but only after thousands of years—and the Doctor thinks it just requires the help of our science and medicine to keep him living indefinitely, I'm afraid, Matthew, terribly afraid, that he would be greatly tempted to stay."

"Oh, come, come, Tommy," said the Cats'meat–Man. "Meself, I think it's much more likely, if 'e 'as discovered the secret of everlastin' life, that 'e'll be wantin' to bring it down to old Mother Earth to try it on the folks 'ere. You mark my words, one of these fine nights 'e'll come tumblin' in on top of you, all full of mooney ideas what 'e wants to try out on the poor British public. You mark my words."

"I hope you're right, Matthew," I said.

"O' course I'm right, Tommy," said he. "We ain't seen the last of our old friend yet—not by a long chalk. And even if 'e 'asn't got no other 'umans to persuade 'im to come back, don't forget 'e 'as Polynesia, 'is parrot, and Chee–Chee the monkey with 'im. They're somethin' to be reckoned with. Why, that parrot, by 'erself, would talk down the whole House o' Lords in any argument! 'E'll come."

"But it is a whole year, Matthew, that he's been gone."

"Well, maybe 'e wanted to see what the Spring and Summer was like up there."

"Yes, he did say something once about wishing to see the difference in the seasons on the moon."

"There you are!" Matthew spread out his hands in triumph. "'E's been gone a twelve–month–seen the Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter on the moon. You can expect 'im back any day now, you mark my words. Cheer up, young man. Don't be down–'carted. Now let's get back to this job you was a' thinkin' of."

"Yes, Matthew. We have strayed away from what we started to talk of, haven't we? You must forgive me if I sounded sort of blue and dumpy. But I have been dreadfully worried."

"O' course you 'ave, Tommy—with everything to look after and all. Very nacheral, very nacheral! Now you said you wanted some sort of a job what you could do at 'ome, didn't yer—so as you could keep one eye on the moon like?"

"That's it, Matthew."

"Humph!" grunted the Cats'–meat–Man. "Now let me see … Yes, I 'ave it! You remember that butcher what I buys my meat from to feed the cats and dogs with?"

"Oh, that round fat man with the little button of a nose?"

"Yes, that's 'im. Old Simpson. Now listen: Simpson couldn't never do figures, see? Always gettin' 'is books mixed up, sendin' wrong bills to people and 'avin' no end of rows with 'is customers. 'E's very sensitive about it. 'Is missus could do 'is figurin' for 'im but 'e won't let 'er, see? Doesn't like to admit that 'e can't add up straight. Now maybe I can persuade 'im to let me bring you 'is books twice a week; and you can put 'em right and make out 'is bills proper for 'im, see?"

"Oh, Matthew," I cried, "that would be splendid if you could!"

"Well, Tommy," said he, "I'll see what can be done. I'll go and 'ave a chat with old Simpson in the mornin' and I'll let you know. Now I got to be off. Don't worry, Tommy, everything's goin' to be all right."

3 Cheapside Calls on Us

The Cats'–meat–Man was quite successful. Obadiah Simpson, the butcher, was only too glad to hear of some one who would do his bookkeeping for him without telling anybody about it. Matthew Mugg brought me two large brand–new ledgers, as they were called, heavy, red–bound, blank books with OBADIAH SIMPSON & SONS—BUTCHERS: PUDDLEBY–ON–THE–MARSH stamped in gold on their covers. With these, twice every week, he brought also an envelope full of greasy slips of paper on which were written the butcher's sales of meat to his customers. The writing was awful and very hard to make out. Most of the customers' names were spelled wrong—often many different ways in one batch of bills. But after I had asked Matthew to get the proper spelling of the names for me I entered up each customer in the big elegant red books. I used a bold round handwriting, very elegant, I thought. It was in fact a boyish copy of Doctor Dolittle's. But anyhow, alongside of poor Simpson's dreadful–looking pothooks of letters and figures it did look very clear, grown–up and business–like.

The butcher was delighted with my work. I learned afterwards that he told his family that the bookkeeping and the bold round handwriting were his own and that he had taken a special course in mathematics from a professor!

He paid me three shillings and sixpence a week. It does not sound much, I know. But in those days money went a great deal further than it does now. By economizing I was able to buy the things I needed for the house and the animals and I even managed to save a little out of it for a rainy day. And it was a good thing, too, that I did, as I will explain later on.

Spring was now turning into Summer and the days were getting long again. One late afternoon we were sitting down to tea, and although daylight still lasted, a beautiful, pale full moon hung in the sky. The animals were gathered around the table in the kitchen.

"Who is on duty watching the moon to–night, Tommy?" asked Jip, looking up at the sky through the window.

"Too–Too," I said. "He will be there till midnight, then I will go up, Jip."

"Listen, Tommy," said the dog, "I see some cloud banks over in the West there. What will happen if the clouds spread over the moon just at the moment when the Doctor wants to set off the smoke signals?"

"You can see the earth from the moon just as plainly as you can see the moon from here," I said, "only the earth looks much larger. You remember I told you the earthlight on the moon was much stronger than the moonlight is on the earth. If the Doctor sees clouds around the side of the earth that is facing towards the moon he will put off signalling till they clear away."

"Yes, but suppose," said Jip, "that he is trying to get away secretly, without letting the Moon Man know; he might miss a chance that way which he would never get again."

"I am afraid, Jip," I answered, "that getting off the moon without Otho Bludge knowing it would be impossible for the Doctor—or anybody else."

"It doesn't seem to me," squeaked the white mouse,"—from what Tommy has told us about that horrid old Moon Man—that John Dolittle will stand any chance at all of leaving without his permission and his help. Isn't that so, Tommy?"

"Er—yes, I'm afraid it is, pretty much," I answered. "You see, gathering together enough of that special wood I told you about is a big job. To make a smoke explosion big enough to be seen from here you need to have a regular mountain of the stuff."

"Is there any other way for him to get down," asked Jip, "except by using the giant moth who took you both up there?"

"Well, Jip," I said, "that's the only means that I know he could use. Still, you must remember, that I was only on the moon for a short time. And although we went part way into the further side of the moon—the side you never see from here—we had not explored it all when I left, by any means. The Doctor may have discovered new animals since—flying insects and birds, you know—which I never saw. He might get help from them."

"But look here," said Gub–Gub, "didn't you say that all the creatures and plants on the moon obeyed the orders of Otho Bludge because he was President of the Council? Well, how could they help—"

"Oh, do be quiet!" snapped Dab–Dab. "Enough of your everlasting questions. The Doctor will get down in his own time and his own way."

I was glad of the old housekeeper's interruption. For months now I had had to answer a never–ending stream of inquiries about the Doctor and his chances of getting off the moon. With her clever motherly sense, Dab–Dab had seen that my heart was sinking lower and lower as the months went by, while I still tried to keep up a cheerful front. Yet no one was more uneasy about the Doctor's safety—though she did not show it—than Dab–Dab herself. I had found her more than once of late secretly dusting his room, brushing his clothes and putting his shaving things in order with tears in her eyes. She confessed to me, years afterwards, that she had given up all hope of seeing her dear old friend again when the tenth month had passed.

"Yes, but what I don't understand," said the white mouse, "is how the—"

"There are a lot of things you don't understand," Dab–Dab put in. "Who wants a piece of hot toast?"

"I do," said Gub–Gub.

I took a large plate full of toast from the hearth and set it on the table. And for a while we all munched away and drank tea in silence.

"What are you thinking about, Gub–Gub?" asked the white mouse presently.

"I was thinking of the kitchen garden of Eden—if you must know," grunted Gub–Gub with his mouth full.

"The kitchen garden of Eden! Tee, hee, hee!" tittered the white mouse. "What an idea!"

"Well, they had apples in the garden of Eden, didn't they?" said Gub–Gub. "And if they had orchards they must have had a kitchen garden. I do wish the Bible had said more about it. I could have used it very nicely in my Encyclopedia of Food."

"'Well, they had apples in the garden of Eden, didn't they?' said Gub–Gub"

"What would you have called it?" tittered the white mouse. "'Chapter on Biblical Eating'?"

"I don't know," said Gub–Gub seriously. "But listen: I did know a biblical family once."

"You did!" cried the white mouse. "A biblical family!"

"Certainly," said Gub–Gub. "Very biblical. They all wore bibs—the children, the parents, and even the grandfather. But I do wish I knew what Adam and Eve ate besides apples."

"Oh, well, why bother?" sighed Jip. "Just make it up out of your fat head as you go along. Who will know the difference? Nobody was ever there."

"Why not call it 'Heavenly Vegetables'?" said the white mouse, carefully brushing the toast crumbs out of his silky whiskers.

"Yes, I was thinking of that," said Gub–Gub. "After all, what would heaven be without vegetables?"

"Just heaven," said Jip with a sigh.

"Sh!" said Dab–Dab. "What's that noise?"

"Why, it's Cheapside! Look!" cried the white mouse. "At the window."

We all glanced up and there, sure enough, was the Cockney sparrow tapping on the glass with his stubby bill. I ran and pushed the window up. He hopped inside.

"What ho, me 'earties!" he chirped. "'Ere we are again! The old firm—what, 'avin' tea? Good, I'm just in time. I always makes an 'abit of arrivin' places just in time for tea."

He flew on to the table and began helping me to eat my piece of toast.

"Well," said he, "what's new in Puddleby?"

"Nothing much, Cheapside," I said. "I have a small job which brings in a little money—enough to keep us going. But we always expect you to bring the news, you know. How is Becky?"

"Oh, the wife," said he. "She's all right. Yer know the old sayin', 'naught can never come to 'arm.' Ha, ha! We're busy buildin' the new spring nest now—Yes, same old place, St. Edmund's left ear, south side of the Cathedral. But we got a new architect in charge of St. Paul's now. And what d'yer think was the first thing 'e did? Why, 'e gave orders to 'ave all the saints washed! It's a fact. Sacrilegious, I calls it. And ain't we sparrows got no rights neither? Mussin' up our nests with dirty water! Why, me and Becky 'ave built our nest in St. Edmund's left ear for six years now. Thought we was goin' to 'ave to move over to the Bank of England this Spring—straight, we did. But at last them bloomin' masons got finished with their moppin' and sloppin' and we're back at the old address for another year. Any word of the Doctor?"

A little silence fell over us all.

"No, Cheapside," I said at last. "No signals as yet. But tell me, what is the news from London?"

"Well," said Cheapside, "they're all talkin' about this 'ere eclipse of the moon."

"What are clips of the moon?" asked Gub–Gub. "An eclipse, Gub–Gub," I said, "is when the earth gets between the sun and the moon—exactly in between. The earth's shadow is then thrown upon the moon and its light is put out—for us. When is this eclipse, Cheapside?"

"It's to–night, Tommy," said the sparrow. "It's the first full eclipse in I don't know how many years. And everybody up in London is getting out their telescopes and opery–glasses so as to be ready to see it. That's why I come 'ere to–night. 'Becky,' I says to the missus, 'I believe I'll take a run down to Puddleby this evenin'.' 'What d'yer want to do that for?' she says. 'What about the nest buildin'?' she says. 'Ain't you interested in yer children no more?' 'Ho no!' I says to 'er, I says. 'It ain't that, old girl. But when a feller's 'ad as many families as I've 'ad, yer can't expect—well, the newness of the idea gets worn off a bit, you know. There's an eclipse to–night, Becky,' I says, 'and this 'ere city air is so foggy. I'd like to run down to the Doctor's place and see it from the country. You can finish the nest by yerself. It's nearly done already.' 'Oh, very well,' she says. 'You and your eclipses! It's a fine father you are! Run along.' And'ere I am, the old firm. Let's 'ave another piece of toast, Dab–Dab."

"Do you know what time the eclipse is supposed to be, Cheapside?" I asked.

"A few minutes after eleven o'clock, Tommy," said he. "I'm going to go up and watch it from the roof, I am."

4 The Eclipse of the Moon

At Cheapside's words a great chattering broke out among the animals. Every one of them decided he wanted to stay up and see the eclipse. Usually our household was a very free one, quite different in that way—as well as many others—from a household of people. Everybody went to bed at whatever hour he wished—though if we did not want a scolding from Dab–Dab we all had to be pretty much on time for meals. The last few months, however (even while we carefully took turns watching the moon for the smoke signals), we had been going to bed pretty early in order to save candles.

Gub–Gub was dreadfully afraid that he would miss the eclipse by falling asleep. This was something he did very easily at any hour at all. He made us promise to wake him if he should doze off before eleven o'clock. Cheapside's coming had cheered us all up. We certainly needed it. I thought something should be done to celebrate.

And so, as it turned out, that particular eclipse of the moon was made a very special occasion and a sort of a party.

Immediately after tea I ran down to the town and spent a little of the money I had saved up on some things for a special supper. I got the right time, too, while I was shopping and corrected the grandfather's clock in the hall when I got back to the house.

We had a very gay meal, everybody chattering and laughing over the sparrow's ridiculous jokes and songs. As usual, I was asked no end of questions—this time about eclipses and what they were like. I found some of them very difficult to answer, because, though I had seen an eclipse of the sun once, I had never seen one of the moon.

All the animals wanted to make sure of a good place to watch from, where they could see the show properly. This was not easy. There were several high trees near the house; and at half–past ten the moon looked as though it might very soon be hidden by their top branches—that is, if one tried to watch the eclipse from the garden. So Gub–Gub said he wanted to see it from the roof, the same as Cheapside. I explained to him that it was easy for the birds, like Too–Too, Dab–Dab and the sparrow—and even for the white mouse, because they could cling to the ridge and keep their balance, but that it would be much more difficult for him and Jip and myself.

However, there was a trap–door in the roof which let you out from the attic on to the tiles, close to the big chimney. In the attic I managed to rig up two step–ladders with a sort of platform, made out of boards and packing–cases on the top. By standing on this we were able to stick our heads out of the trap–door.

It was a fine place for a view. I could see the town of Puddleby, three miles away, even the buildings and everything—the church tower, the town hall, the winding river, all bathed in the light of the moon.

On the platform Jip, Gub–Gub and I stationed ourselves to wait. The white mouse I had brought up in my pocket. I let him go on the tiles where, with squeals of joy, he ran along the ridge or capered up and down the steep slopes of the roof, absolutely fearless, just as though he were on solid ground.

"Can't I get out on to the tiles too, Tommy?" asked Gub–Gub. "Whitey is going to get a much better view than we can here—with just our noses poking out of this hole."

"No," I said, "better not. You can see the moon quite well from where you are. Whitey can cling on to steep places where none of us could."

However, while my back was turned, Gub–Gub did scramble out on to the roof—with sad consequences. I heard a terrible squawk and turning around I saw him lose his balance and go rolling down the slope of the roof like a ball.

"Great Heavens!" I said to Jip. "He'll be killed—or badly hurt anyway."

"Don't worry," said Jip. "He's well padded. Most likely he'll just bounce when he hits the ground. You can't hurt that pig."

With a dreadful shriek Gub–Gub disappeared into the darkness over the edge of the slope and for a second we listened in silence. But instead of the thud of his falling on the garden path, the sound of a big splash came up to us. The white mouse ran down the slope and looked over the edge of the rain–gutter.

"It's all right, Tommy," he called back to me. "He's fallen into the rain–water butt."

I jumped to the attic floor, ran down the stairs and out into the garden.

In those days all country houses had rain–water butts. They were big barrels set close to the walls to catch rain–water from the roof. Into one of these poor Gub–Gub had fallen—luckily for him. When I came up he was swimming and gasping in the water, quite unable to get out, but not hurt in the least. I fished him up to the top, carried him into the kitchen and rubbed him with a towel. He was a wetter but a wiser pig.

When I had got him dry I heard the hall clock strike eleven and we hurried back to the trapdoor.

As we started to get up on to the platform Jip called to me:

"Hurry, Tommy, hurry! It's beginning!"

Then I heard Too–Too calling from the other end of the roof:

"Here it is. The shadow! Look! The shadow creeping over the moon."

I sprang out of the trap–door and stood on the ridge, steadying myself with one hand on the chimney.

It was indeed a remarkable sight. There was not a cloud in the sky. A great round shadow, like a tea–tray, was creeping slowly across the face of the moon. The country about us had been all flooded with light, almost like day. But now the world slowly began to darken as the moon's light went out, shut off by the giant shadow of the earth. Even Puddleby River, which had shone so clearly, was gone in the darkness. Little by little the shadow crept on until the moon was hidden altogether; only a faint, pale, glowing ring—like a will–o'–the–wisp—was left standing in the sky where it had been. It was the blackest night.

"My goodness, Tommy!" whispered Gub–Gub, "isn't it exciting? Will it stay this way?"

"Not for long, Gub–Gub," I said. "In a few seconds you will see the moon again, just the edge of it at first, when our shadow passes off it."

"But I don't see myself there," said Gub–Gub. "We're sitting up on top of the house, as plain as a pikestaff. There ought to be the shadow of a pig and a dog and a boy there."

"Tee, hee, hee!" tittered the white mouse out of the darkness at my elbow.

"No, Gub–Gub," I said. "Our bodies can throw a shadow on the ground, or a wall, both by sunlight and moonlight. But we are too small—as far away from it as this—to throw a shadow on the moon."

"Humph! I'm very disappointed," grunted Gub–Gub. "I would have liked to see my shadow on the moon."

"You are a kind of a comical scientist, you are, Piggy," chirped Cheapside from the chimney top above our heads. "An eclipse of the bacon, ha!"

"But, listen, Tommy," said Jip. "You said the moon's light is only the light of the sun reflected back to us here, the same as a mirror, didn't you? Very well then: if the earth on which we stand is now in between the sun and the moon—throwing a shadow over it—then any one in the moon at this moment will have the light of the sun cut off, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, Jip," I said. "That's quite right. The moon is now having an eclipse of the sun while we are having an eclipse of the moon…. There you are, Gub–Gub, the shadow is passing off now. You can just see a thin line of the moon beginning to show on the—My goodness, what was that?"

"Tommy! Tommy!" screamed Dab–Dab. "Did you see that? A puff of smoke—just at the end of the white line of the moon!"

"Yes, I saw it!" I shouted back. "Yes, look—there it goes again!"

"White smoke!" said Jip solemnly.

"The signal, the signal at last!" cried Too–Too. "It's the Doctor!" said the white mouse. "Yes, it's the Doctor, all right," chirped Cheapside. "'E's comin' back to us. Gawd bless 'im!"

5 I Send for Help

The Doctor's little house on the Oxenthorpe Road had in its time seen many days and nights of excitement and thrill. But I don't believe that it ever saw anything quite as uproarious and crazy as it did now. All the animals asked me a question at once, and, without waiting for an answer, aske'd me another. When they were not asking questions they were chattering and cheering or giving advice, or just singing for sheer joy. And I must admit I was pretty well excited myself.

"Cheapside," I said, "fly over to Matthew Mugg's house, will you? He'll be in bed, but tap on his window and wake him up. Point to the moon. He'll understand. Get him to come here right away. Bring him in his nightshirt if necessary, but get him here. I may need his help."

"Okay!" chirped the sparrow, and with a flirt of his wings he was under way.

"How long do you think it will be before the Doctor gets here?" asked Gub–Gub. "What will he do if a storm comes up? Will he be hungry? Yes, of course he will. I'll go and dig up some of the spring onions at once."

"Listen, Tommy," said the white mouse. "What will he be wearing? Most likely his clothes will be all in rags after this long time, won't they? I'll go and thread some needles for him right away."

Dab–Dab was a changed duck. Instead of carrying her usual look of seriousness, care, and responsibility, she was now weeping and smiling at the same time.

"Just to think of it!" she kept muttering. "The dear man! On his way back at last! Which room shall we put him in, Tommy—his old one? It's the only large bedroom, facing East—and he always did like to wake up with the morning sun on the windows, you know. You've got it full of dried plants and specimens. But no matter, we'll soon clear it. I'll go and make his bed up."

"There is no hurry about that, Dab–Dab," I said. "He can't get down to the earth for many hours yet."

The eclipse was nearly over now. We waited a few minutes—just to make sure we did not miss any further signals. Then, after the shadow had cleared away entirely and the moon sailed the sky again in all her glory, we went down into the house.

"Listen, everybody," I said when we were gathered in the kitchen: "you know we agreed to keep the Doctor's visit to the moon a secret. And we have. That is one of the reasons why I have hardly left the house since I came back to you—I did not want to be asked questions by people I might meet. Now it is more important than ever that we say nothing—nothing to any living thing, you understand—of John Dolittle's return. Do not speak of it even to your animal friends or we shall have a string of cows and dogs and horses a mile long waiting at the gate to greet him. That will attract the attention of people and the Doctor will get no peace day or night. He may be very much in need of rest and sleep when he arrives. So remember: not a word."

"Tommy," Jip whispered, "you're not fearing he'll be sick when he gets here, are you?"

"I'm not fearing anything, Jip," I answered. "But on the other hand I don't know what to expect. The journey down here is a very trying and hard one, as I told you. The changes of air and gravity and climate are awfully sudden and disturbing. John Dolittle has been more than a year on the moon. I was only up there a short time. It may be much more difficult for him to get used to the earth again than it was for me. I would feel happier if I had another doctor here in case he needs medical care. But Matthew will be along presently. I'll be able to send him into the town if we need anything."

"But everything will be all shut up now, Tommy," said he. "It's nearly midnight."

"I doubt if we shall see the Doctor before tomorrow night, Jip," I said. "Even at the tremendous speed that the giant moth travels, it takes a long time. Then again he may not leave immediately after signalling. He may wait a while. I have an idea he chose the time of the eclipse for some special reason. Too–Too, would you please see how much money I have?"

"Yes, Tommy," said the owl, "right away."

In those days we only had metal money, copper, silver and gold, except for large amounts. What I had saved I kept in the same old money–box the Doctor used. It stood in the same place, too—on the dresser shelf in the kitchen. Too–Too, who had always been a wizard at mathematics, now emptied the money–box into a flat dish and began to count up the coins.

"If he arrives in the daylight," said Jip, "what shall we do then?—I mean about people seeing him land. How are we going to keep it a secret?"

"I imagine the Doctor will think of that himself," I said. "Most likely he will time his departure from the moon so as to land here in the dark. I think, Jip, we had better arrange for some one to stay on watch at the trap–door till the moon sets. Will you go?"

"Certainly," said Jip, and he made for the stairs.

"Tommy," called Too–Too from the dresser, "you have here exactly seven shillings and four–pence ha'penny. Let's see: you've had your job five weeks now. That means you've saved eighteenpence a week. Not bad, Tommy, not bad."

"No," I said; "I didn't think I had so much. Well, we'll need it—and maybe a good deal more."

There came a familiar tap–tap at the window–pane.

"Cheapside!" said the white mouse.

I let him in.

"You didn't take long," I said. "Did you find Matthew?"

"Yes," said the sparrow. "'E's comin' right along be'ind me. I can fly much quicker, see? So I come on ahead."

It was not many minutes after Cheapside's return that Gub–Gub came in from the kitchen garden. He had a beautiful bunch of spring onions which he had gathered.

"I do love digging up onions by moonlight," said he. "There's something so poetic about it. Listen, Tommy, I saw Matthew's figure from the gate, way down the road, coming here on the run."

At that moment Matthew burst into the room.

"Tommy!" he cried, all out of breath. "You don't mean to say you got the signal!"

"'You don't mean to say you got the signal!'"

"That's it, Matthew," I said. "We all saw it—twice—two distinct puffs of smoke. Isn't it grand?"

"Why, I should say it is!" said the Cats'–meat–Man, sinking into a chair. "I run all the way 'ere. Ain't done such a thing since I was a boy. I thought it was Cheapside, but then I couldn't be sure, because all sparrers look alike to me. Me and Theodosia 'ad gone to bed; but that blinkin' little bird woke us up—kept peckin' at the glass and pointin' to the moon. My, I wish I could talk these bird languages, the same as you can! But at last I tumbled to the idea and I jumps into me clothes like a fireman and 'ere I am. 'Ow soon do yer expect the Doctor?"

"I can't tell, Matthew. My guess is some time to–morrow night. But I wanted to have you here right away to help me if necessary. You don't mind, do you?"

"I'm deelighted, Tommy, deelighted! I wouldn't miss being 'ere to welcome the Doctor, not for nothin' in the world."

All the animals were far too excited to go to bed that night. They kept skipping in and out of the house, peering at the moon. Matthew Mugg sat up with me in the kitchen, where we talked till the dawn showed in the east windows.

6 The Sound in the Sky

Even then, when daylight came, the Cats'meat–Man and I only took short sleeps in our chairs, setting Too–Too on watch with orders to rouse us if anything happened.

About noon Dab–Dab woke us and said breakfast was ready. We were hungry and ate a hearty meal.

"We ought to get some things in from the town, Tommy," said the housekeeper as she waited on us. "The larder is pretty low in provisions."

"All right, Dab–Dab," I said. "Tell me what you need."

"I'm short of milk," she said. "The Doctor always drank a lot of milk. And I'm low on sugar, too. And—let me see—yes, tapioca, macaroni and three loaves of bread. I think that's all."

I made out a list, gave it to Matthew with some money, and asked him to do the shopping for us. The Cats'–meat–Man was very proud of being a friend of John Dolittle's; so, fearing he might be tempted to talk, I reminded him once more as he set out for Puddleby to keep a closed mouth about the great event we were waiting for.

"Don't you worry, Tommy," he said. "I won't talk. But listen, would you mind if I was to tell my wife Theodosia? She was at me last night to tell 'er why I was rushin' off in such an 'urry. She always thinks I'm goin' poachin' when I stays out nights. But she knows 'ow to keep a secret. And, while Dab–Dab is a pretty good cook and housekeeper, we might be glad of 'er 'elp when the Doctor arrives. Theodosia would be right pleased to do anything she can for John Dolittle. And, yer know, women—though they ain't much good at some things—they do know 'ow to make a place ome–like for a welcome. They 'ave ideas—and good ones too—sometimes. Surprisin'."

"Why—er, yes, Matthew," I said. "I see no reason why you shouldn't tell Mrs. Mugg."

Not long after the Cats'–meat–Man had gone, the old lame horse came round to the kitchen door.

"Tommy," said he, "I see the woodshed is nearly empty. Maybe the Doctor will need a fire when he gets down. The nights are still pretty cool. Don't you think we ought to go and gather some wood?"

"Yes," I said. "I think we should. But how is your hoof?"

"Oh," said he, "not too bad. I have to limp a bit. But if you put those two wood baskets on my back I can manage them easy."

So I got an axe and we went off into the small forest that bordered the Doctor's garden at the bottom. Here I chopped enough wood for three or four good fires. I loaded it into the baskets and the old horse carried it up to the shed.

It was about half–past four in the afternoon when Matthew got back. Besides the stores I had sent him for, he brought Theodosia Mugg, his wife. I was glad to see her big motherly figure coming up the garden path. She was a very clever and capable woman, was Theodosia. This she had shown when she travelled with the Doctor in the circus, years ago, and had acted as wardrobe–woman in the famous Canary Opera which John Dolittle had put on in London.

Dab–Dab did not quite care for the idea of having any one share her duties as housekeeper. But she had always liked Theodosia; and very soon she saw that the good woman could get a lot more done in one hour than a duck could in three.

A few minutes after she arrived Mrs. Mugg had all the carpets out on the lawn to be beaten; she had the lace curtains in the wash–tub to be cleaned; the kitchen floor was scrubbed; every dish in the house was spick and span. You never saw a house change so quickly.

"Oh, Master Tommy," said she (I could never understand why I was just plain "Tommy" to Matthew, but always "Master Tommy" to his wife), "ain't it wonderful to think of the Doctor's comin' back? It threw me all of a twitter—the news did, when Matthew told me—Oh, would yer mind chasin' that pig out into the garden? 'E's muddin' up the clean floor."

Gub–Gub, much to his disgust, was asked to leave.

"Yes," she went on, "Matthew told me too what you said about keepin' the Doctor's comin' a secret. Never fear, I don't want to be laughed at. People wouldn't believe you—not if you told 'em one quarter of what's true about the Doctor. Why, when I was workin' with 'im in the circus and 'e put on the Canary Opera, it was plain to every one in London that 'e could talk the languages of all them birds—just as if 'e come of a canary family 'isself. But even then, with it right under their noses, would people believe it? No. 'Talk canary language!' says they. 'Impossible! It's just trainin' tricks—' No, you needn't think I'd speak to any one about the Doctor's bein' in the moon. I don't want to be laughed at. That's the way folks are: tell 'em anything new and they think you're cracked."

Theodosia shook her head sadly and went on dusting the pantry cupboard.

"Yes," I said. "And I fancy that is partly why John Dolittle has kept so much to himself of late years. For one thing, many of the scientific discoveries he has made in natural history are far too extraordinary for people to believe; and for another, he does not want to be bothered with people fussing at him and admiring him and hindering him from working. Why, Jip told me that while he was running the opera in London it took him an hour of each day to sign the autograph albums that were sent him for his signature."

"It was worse than that, Master Tommy," said Theodosia—"sometimes. Indeed, we 'ad to get the 'elp of the police to keep the crowds away when they discovered what 'ouse 'e was livin' in in London—Well, now look 'ere! This won't do, I mustn't stand gossipin'. I want to get this 'ouse finished before 'e comes."

It began to get dark about a quarter–past seven. By that time the animals had all had sleep of some sort, even if it was only a few minutes. They now began to fuss around again, chatting in the garden in twos and threes, determined not to be caught napping at the last moment. I noticed some blackbirds and robins watching this moonlight garden party from the trees. So I sent out Dab–Dab to call the animals in.

When the moon rose at a quarter–past eight, Matthew and I stationed ourselves at one of the bedroom windows. We left this window open.

"You feel sure 'e'll come to–night, Tommy, don't you?" asked the Cats'–meat–Man.

"Pretty certain, Matthew," I said. "I only hope he arrives in darkness. That's the one thing I'm afraid about now."

"Well, the Doctor don't often go wrong on calculations," said he.

"No," I said, "that's very true. But you see I'm by no means certain he'll come on the moth. If he does, he could be sure of his timing, because on our way up his watch never stopped. After we'd landed it went all wrong, on account of the gravity and different climate. But he noted down the exact number of hours it took us to get up there. However, Jamara Bumblelily was the only specimen of the giant moth we saw in the moon. It is possible she may not be able to bring the Doctor on this trip."

"What will 'e do, then?"

"I've no idea, Matthew," I said. "Perhaps he'll come on some other insect—which may take a longer or may take a shorter time."

At that moment there was a scratching on the door.

"Tommy, Tommy!" called Jip through the door. "Too–Too says he hears something—in the sky, a long way off. Listen and see if you can catch it!"

7 The Great Locust

Both Matthew and I put our heads out of the window.

"Do you hear anything?" I asked.

"Not a thing, Tommy," said the Cats'–meat–Man.

"Humph!" I said. "Neither do I. But that's not surprising. That owl Too–Too can hear things that no human ear can ever catch. Why, once when we were—"

"Sh!—Listen!" whispered Matthew. "Do you get that? A low humming noise."

Then came another knocking on the door. This time it was Dab–Dab.

"Tommy," she called. "Come out into the garden—the back garden—quick!"

Matthew and I dashed for the door and down the stairs.

Behind the house, on the big lawn, we found all the animals with Theodosia, gazing skywards. And now I heard it: a deep, soft, purring kind of noise, still a long, long way off.

"Well, if that's a moth," said Matthew, "it's as big as a young town."

"It isn't the moth," I said. "Jamara Bumblelily made an entirely different sound. The Doctor's coming down on something else. We must get the lawn clear. Let's run that wheelbarrow into the shed, Matthew."

"All right. I'll do it," said the Cats'–meat–Man.

This fine sweep of turf had always been known as the Long Lawn. It was one part of that grand old garden of which the Doctor was very proud. Bordered by great elm–trees on one side and by a long tall yew–hedge on the other, it ran in one unbroken sweep of a hundred and fifty yards, from the house at one end toward the fish–pond and the Zoo at the other. At the bottom there was an old card house, a pavilion made like a small Greek temple out of gleaming white stone. On this lawn, the history of the place told us, a duel had been fought by gay gentlemen in brocade and lace ruffles, after they had quarrelled over their card game in the pavilion.

It was a romantic spot. And just to look at it by moonlight carried you back hundreds of years. I could not help wondering as I gazed upon it now whether, with all its memories of the past, it had ever seen anything as strange as it would see tonight.

It is curious that from the time when the hum in the sky could be first plainly heard, none of us spoke. We had all drawn away, close to the house, so as to leave the Long Lawn clear for the Doctor's landing. Silent, Matthew presently joined us. And there we all stood, faces upturned toward the moon, too breathless with excitement to speak, while the booming drone of great wings grew louder and louder.

How long we waited I cannot tell. It may have been a minute; it may have been an hour. I know I had intended to note down the exact time the Doctor landed. He had so often reminded me of the importance, in keeping scientific or natural–history notes, of putting down the date and the time of day. For this reason I had brought out with me one of his old watches which I had carefully set by the grandfather's clock in the hall. But I forgot to look at it. I forgot everything. All I thought of was that he was there—somewhere in the sky, with that tremendous growing sound—coming, coming back to us at last!

But though I lost all count of time that night, everything that actually happened I remember as sharply now as though it were drawn in pictures before my eyes at this moment. Somewhere in that space of time while we stood gazing, a great shadow swept suddenly between us and the moon. For a little while it stood, hovering and humming, high up above the lawn. I could not yet make out much as to its shape. Then, like some roaring machine turned off sharply, the noise ceased. The air rested in a big dead silence.

I guessed that whatever creature it might be, it was probably now sailing with outspread wings, looking for a place to land. Next the shadow passed from off the smooth grass. Was it circling—circling downwards? Yes, because once more its great body shut off the light like a cloud.

And at last—whish!—it came skimming over the tree–tops in plain view. The air whistled like a fierce gust of wind as it banked around in a graceful curve and dropped on the turf before us.

It filled the whole of the Long Lawn!

It was clear to me now that it was some member of the grasshopper family. (Later I learned that it was a locust.) But for the present I was not so concerned with the nature of the insect as I was with what it carried.

Alone, I moved out into the moonlight towards it. On tiptoe, trying to see the top of its back, I peered upward. But the highest part of it was hidden by the curve of the body. The great locust, apparently exhausted by the long journey, lay absolutely, still. Nothing moved anywhere.

A terrible fear came over me. Where was the Doctor? Had the hard journey proved too much for him?—Or could it be that he had not come at all? Perhaps this great thing from the moon's animal kingdom had only brought a message to us—maybe a message to say that John Dolittle had decided to stay on that other world after all.

Frantic at the thought, I started to scramble up the locust's wings, which were now folded at his sides. Beautiful, transparent wings they were, smooth and opal–coloured—with great hard veins running through them, standing out from the glassy surface like gnarled roots.

But suddenly I heard a voice, a harsh, grating, but well–remembered, well–loved voice. A parrot's!—"Chee–Chee, Chee–Chee! Wake up! We're here—in Puddleby. Shiver my timbers! You're not as sick as you think you are. Wake up!"

And then for the first time the Earth spoke back to the people from the moon.

"Polynesia!" I shouted. "Is that you? Where is the Doctor? Is he with you?"

"Yes, he's here all right," called the parrot. "But he's unconscious still. We've got to go easy with him. Had an awful time getting through the dead belt. Gosh, what a journey! I wonder if I can fly straight any more in this gravity? Look out! I'm coming down."

I saw something shoot out off the top of the locust's back. It looked like a bundle of rags, turning over and over in the air. Then it landed on the grass at my feet with a distinct thud. Polynesia, ruffled and disgruntled, broke out into a long string of Swedish swear–words.

"Like a bundle of rags, turning over and over"

"Ouch!" she ended. "Did you see that?—Landed right on my nose, like a pudding! I've got to learn to fly all over again—at my time of life! All unbalanced and fluffed up! Just because that stupid old moon doesn't keep the right kind of air. You haven't got a biscuit in your pocket, I suppose? I'm as hungry as a bear."

I called to Dab–Dab to go and fetch me some from the pantry.

"But, Polynesia," I said, "what about the Doctor? You say he's unconscious?"

"Yes," she said, "but he's all right. Difficulty with his breathing, you know. Leave him to rest a little while. We'll get him down presently. Poor old Chee–Chee's seasick, or airsick, or whatever it is. The last few hours of the trip I was the only one on deck, the only one left to guide that blessed grasshopper to the garden here. That comes of my years of seafaring, Tommy. Hard as nails, hard as nails—So would you be if you had lived a hundred and eighty years on sunflower seeds and biscuit crumbs! Trouble with humans is they eat too many different kinds of foods. Parrots have more sense!"

She strutted a few paces with her funny, straddling, sailor–like gait. Then she fell down on her side.

"Drat it!" she muttered. "This air is heavy! Can't even walk straight."

"But listen," I said. "The Doctor—can't we—"

"Sh!" she whispered. "He's woken up. Look!"

I glanced towards the locust's back. An enormous foot was sliding down towards us. It was followed by a still more enormous leg. Finally the body came in sight. Polynesia and I moved back a little. Then, with a run, the whole mass of an unbelievably big human figure came slithering down the locust's wings and slumped into a heap on the lawn.

I rushed forward and gazed into the motionless face. The eyes were closed. The skin was tanned to a deep brown colour by sun and wind. But, for me, there was no mistaking the mouth, the nose, the chin.

It was John Dolittle.

8 The Doctor's Voice

I ran into the house for the brandy flask which was always kept in the dispensary. But when I got back the Doctor was standing up. He was eighteen feet three and a half inches high. (This I am sure of, because I measured him the next day while he was lying asleep.)

It is difficult to describe his appearance. His sun hat was home–made out of materials he had evidently gathered in the moon and so were his clothes—all but his trousers. These were fashioned out of the blankets we had taken up with us.

"Doctor, Doctor!" I cried. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you back!"

To my surprise he did not answer at once.

I noticed that Chee–Chee the monkey had got over his sickness enough to come down into one of the willows nearby, where Polynesia had joined him. Dab–Dab also had come forward and was now gazing at the Doctor with an odd expression, a mixture of motherly affection, worry, great joy and a little fear. But no one uttered a word. We were all waiting in silence for this strange figure before us to speak.

Presently the Doctor stretched down his hand and took a couple of tottering, unsteady steps towards me. He seemed dreadfully weak and sort of dazed. Once he lifted up his left hand and brushed it across his eyes, as though his sight, as well as his legs, was uncertain. Then his enormous right hand grasped mine so that it disappeared entirely. At last in a curious hesitating way he said: "Why—why, it's Stubbins! Good old … good old … S–s–s–stubbins. Er—er—how are you?" The voice was the only part of him that had not changed. If his face had been blacked and he had grown horns in the moon no one, in any doubt before, could be uncertain now of who it was that spoke. That voice did something to his friends over by the house, who still waited with almost bated breath. For suddenly all of them, Jip, Gub–Gub, the white mouse, Cheapside, Too–Too, Matthew and Theodosia, broke out into resounding cheers and came flocking across the lawn on the run.

They formed a ring around him, all talking at once.

He smiled and tried to say something to each of them. But in a moment he stopped short, swaying.

"Stubbins," he muttered. "I must sit down."

He sank heavily to the grass and propped his back against a tree.

"Can I get you anything, Doctor," I asked. "Brandy?"

"No, I'll be—be all right soon, Stubbins. It's my—er—er—breathing, you know. Funny how I've forgotten the language—partly. Haven't talked it in so long. Have to—er—stop to remember words."

"Well, don't try to talk now, Doctor," I said. "Just rest here."

"The change of air–pressure … c–c–catches my breath," he murmured, closing his eyes. "And the stronger gravity—with my weight. Never dreamed the change would be so great. Just take my pulse, will you?"

I took out the watch and held his wrist.

"It's all right, Doctor," I said after a while. "It's a little fast, but strong and regular."

I turned to Theodosia and asked her to get some mattresses and bedding from the house. She was not sure where to look for them, so I went with her.

"Mercy, Master Tommy!" she whispered when we were inside. "The Lord be praised 'e's back! But did you ever see such a size?"

"It's terrific, Theodosia," I said. "I was over nine feet when I returned. But he's twice that height."

"But where are we going to put him?" she asked. "None of these bedrooms is big enough—even if 'e could get through the door."

"Well," I said, "we'll think up some way to manage. Let's get him comfortable where he is for the present."

"Don't you think you ought to 'ave a doctor look at 'im, Master Tommy? I 'ad a sister once who came down with dropsy. Like an elephant she swelled up. But a doctor gave 'er some pills and she got all right."

"Yes, Theodosia," I said. "I would feel happier if I had a doctor to keep an eye on him. And if I have to, I will. But so long as John Dolittle is conscious I know he would rather I didn't."

"Doctor Pinchbeck, over to Oxenthorpe, is very good, they tell me," said she. "Now where are them blankets, Master Tommy?"

"In these three cupboards here," I said. "Look, I'll load you up and then you send Matthew back to help me get these mattresses out. We're going to need three at least—maybe four."

"All right," she called, running down the stairs under a pile of bedclothes.

"And listen, Mrs. Mugg," I called after her. "Don't let those animals fuss the Doctor with questions. Let him rest."

Well, we got the poor man comfortably settled after a while. By placing four double–bed mattresses end to end we made a bed big enough for him, on the lawn beneath the elms. Then we got all the bolsters in the house, made them into a pile at one end, and covered them with a sheet. That was his pillow. I got him to roll over a couple of turns from where he sat; and there he was, safe in bed.

"It's pretty cool out here, Doctor," I said. "How many bedclothes do you think you'll need?"

He said he thought two thicknesses would be enough. So Theodosia got some carpet thread and by stitching four blankets into one piece, twice, she had two blankets big enough to spread over him.

"But listen, Tommy," said Dab–Dab, "what if it should rain? There are clouds over there to the south–west."

"You're right," I said. "So there are. Let me see, I wonder what—"

"How about the circus tent?" said Gub–Gub. "That's big enough to keep the rain off him."

"Splendid!" I cried. "Let's go and get it." And off we all went towards the stable.

The big tent, a perfectly tremendous affair, was all that the Doctor had kept from his circus days. He had thought it might come in handy some time for housing larger animals in the Zoo. It was stored in the hay–loft over the stable. It weighed I don't know how much. But I do know that it took all of our strength to drag it down out of the loft. But once we got it down, the old horse told us to hitch him on to one end of it with a rope and collar. Then he trailed it across the grass to where the Doctor lay.

We found that some of the poles were missing. But after we had sent Chee–Chee aloft in the trees to tie the ridge–ends to branches, we finally managed to get it strung up and pegged down somehow so that it would serve as a shelter over the bed.

"This is splendid, Tommy," said Dab–Dab when we had finished. "Because, you see, the tent is hidden here from the road by the house and trees. No one will suspect anything."

"Yes," I said, "the Doctor can make this his bedroom till he has grown small again—the same as I did—and can live in the house. We'll have to get some furniture out for him later. But he won't need it yet. Now comes the question of food, Dab–Dab. Have we plenty of milk?"

"About three quarts," said the housekeeper.

I asked Matthew to get me some oil–lamps. And after we had them lighted we went inside the tent.

For the present the Doctor seemed very comfortable. His breathing sounded a little better already. He drank up the three quarts of milk as if it had been no more than a glassful. I guessed that, as usual, he had been too busy getting ready to travel to bother about eating and had probably gone without food for many hours. I rigged up a place for myself to sleep beside him and told the others they could go to bed.

Presently he began to doze off again. But just before he fell asleep he murmured:

"Stubbins, see that the locust has a good feed of lettuce. He will be leaving again before daylight."

"All right, Doctor," I said. "I'll attend to it."

"And don't forget to unload all the baggage off him—some very important specimens, Stubbins, and a lot of notes—very important."

"Yes," I said, "I'll get them unloaded and stored away safe."

I took his pulse again, and while I was doing it he dropped off into a peaceful sleep.

9 The Moon Cat

Several times during what was left of that night I heard John Dolittle stir. By the light of the turned–down lamp I went and looked at him quietly. It was when the first grey of dawn was showing through the canvas of the tent that he called to me. And as I bent over him I heard the great locust outside whirr up off the lawn and start its return journey to the moon.

"Listen, Stubbins," he said weakly. "In the baggage you'll find a package done up in large orange–coloured leaves."

"Yes, Doctor," I said. "I saw it. I have it stored safely away with the other things."

He beckoned me to come nearer. Then he whispered in my ear,

"There's a cat inside it."

I tried not to show my surprise. But I must say it was a shock. The Dolittle household had kept almost every kind of animal on earth in its time, but never a cat. The Doctor always feared that it wouldn't get on happily with the birds and the others. But I only answered,

"Yes, Doctor."

"I had to bring it, Stubbins," he went on—"simply had to. I found it on the far side of the moon, in the twilight zone. There was a whole colony of them there. They were the one kind of animal that refused to join in the Council's work for balancing life and stamping out the everlasting warfare of one species against another. You know they're very independent, cats. Consequently they had had to live by themselves. But when I visited them they did not seem very happy just the same."

"But how did cats come to be on the moon in the first place?" I asked.

"Oh, I imagine there must have been a pair of cats on that piece of the earth which shot away into the sky and became the moon, thousands of years ago. The same thing that happened to the Moon Man himself. I made a lot of other discoveries, too, in the animal kingdom up there after you left. I'll tell you all about them when I'm feeling stronger."

I was simply aching to ask him a thousand questions concerning these discoveries. But for his sake I held my patience.

"All right, Doctor," I said; "there's no hurry."

"No, but listen," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper again. "Keep it quiet—about the cat. Don't say anything to our own animals for the present. It would just upset them. I'll speak to them myself later on. She's a nice cat—quite a character. You know most people think cats are just stay–at–homes. They are not. They're very adventurous. This one astonished me. Said that Otho Bludge, the only man up there, didn't understand cats. And she wanted to travel—to see the world—the earth down here where her ancestors came from. Could she come with me? Well, what was I to do? She promised she would kill no birds, eat no mice and live on nothing but milk—if I'd only take her. You see, Stubbins, I just had to bring her. Polynesia made an awful row, but there was nothing else for it."

"Very good, Doctor," I said. "I'll see she is fed regularly."

But while I said the words I foresaw a revolution in the Dolittle household ahead of us.

"Now run and get breakfast," said the Doctor. "Look, it's daylight outside."

Weary from the effort of talking, he sank back upon the pillow. It made me terribly unhappy to see him lying there so weak and weary. I had never known John Dolittle to have a single day's sickness in his life. He had always been so up–and–doing, cheerful, strong and active.

"Tell me," I said, "don't you think it would be a good idea if I got a doctor in to see you?"

"Oh, no, Stubbins," he smiled. "I'll be all right. You just keep note of my pulse. We don't want any medical men coming here. It might bring those newspaper fellows around."

"Can I get you anything to eat?" I asked.

"Bring me a half–dozen eggs beaten up—with a little pepper and salt. But there's no hurry. Get your own breakfast first, Stubbins. I'll have another little sleep now. And don't forget the cat, will you?"

"No, Doctor," I said, "I won't forget."

"By the way," he added as I pulled aside the tent–flap to leave, "you will find her difficult to talk to. Took me quite a while to get on to the language. Quite different from anything we've tried so far in animal languages. A curious tongue—very subtle, precise and exact. Sounds as though whoever invented it was more anxious to keep things to himself than to hand them over to others. Not chatty at all. There's no word for gossip in it. Not much use for people who want to be chummy. Good language for lawyers though."

When I got indoors I found every one sitting down to a good breakfast which Dab–Dab and Theodosia had prepared. I was glad to be able to tell them that the Doctor could breathe and speak better this morning, but that he still seemed very weak and easily tired.

"The first thing," I said, "is to make him really strong and well. After that we'll have to get his weight and size down to what it was. But that must be done gradually, without letting him lose strength. I'll get him to lay out a diet for himself—then we'll know just what things to give him and what not to give him."

"Then you ain't goin' to get another doctor to see 'im, Master Tommy?" asked Theodosia.

"No," I said, "not for the present anyhow."

"What would he want with a doctor?" Gub–Gub asked, raising his eyebrows. "John Dolittle knows all there is to be known, himself, about doctoring, doesn't he?"

"Well," I explained, "you see, when doctors get ill they sometimes have to get other doctors to doctor them."

"Humph!" grunted Gub–Gub. "How extraordinary! Seems a dreadful waste of money."

"Now," I said, "the main thing for the present—you must forgive me if I repeat it—is that all of you, you, Gub–Gub, Jip, Whitey, Too–Too, everybody, must leave him in peace. Don't visit the tent unless you're sent there specially. He has a lot to tell us and I am just as anxious to hear it as you are. But we have got to wait till he is well enough to tell us in his own way and in his own time. Is that clear?"

They all promised that they would do as I asked. And I must say that they were very good about it. Any one who knew the way they loved the Doctor can imagine how hard it was for them to keep away from him at this time, when they had not seen or talked with him for so long.

Matthew and Theodosia I allowed into the tent—and, once in a while, Polynesia and Chee–Chee. But I never let any of them stay long. It is true that I was a very worried boy those first few days. And if the Doctor's pulse had behaved in any way queerly I would have got another doctor in, no matter what my patient himself had to say.

But, very slowly, a little each day, he began getting better. Before Theodosia left to go back to look after her own home she decided she would like to make him a new suit. Matthew was sent to buy the cloth. But he found that to get enough woollen cloth for such a job would cost far more money than we had. So Mrs. Mugg took three old suits of the Doctor's and by very clever needlework made them into one big one. Then she re–dyed it to make it all of one colour. Of course the Doctor could not wear it right away because he was not yet well enough to move about. But he was very glad to have it against the day when he could get up.

"Mrs. Mugg took three suits and made them into one"

10 The Dolittle Household Revolution

I found that the Doctor had given me a hard job when he told me not to let the other animals know about the cat. That same night I sneaked off quietly by myself and opened up the crate to feed her. I suppose I had expected to find an ordinary cat. But there was nothing ordinary about her. She had a long, thin, snaky sort of body and long thin legs—something like the Indian cheetah. And she was the wildest creature I had ever seen.

Most likely she had thought it was the Doctor coming to see her when I started to undo the wrapping on her cage. But when she saw a strange human looking in at her she bounded away from me and cowered, snarling, in a corner. I saw it was no use trying to coax her in that state of fear. I would have to let her get used to me gradually. So I put the bowl of milk down inside and closed up her crate. Soon I heard her lapping up the food hungrily and I tiptoed quietly away.

I thought it best to consult with Polynesia. I took her aside where we could talk without being heard.

"Listen, Polynesia," I said, "you know about this cat?"

She jumped as though I had stuck a pin in her.

"Young man," she said severely, "if you wish to remain a friend of mine don't ever speak of that animal by the usual word. Those creatures— well, just call it It!"

"Very well, Polynesia," I said, "we'll call her It—No, let's call her Itty, shall we?"

"Itty?" muttered the parrot with a frown—"Itty? Kitty?—Pity would be better. Oh, well, have it your own way."

And from that time on the cat was called Itty.

"You see, Polynesia," I said, "this cat—"

"Don't use that word!" she screamed. "It gets me all fluffed up."

"Excuse me," I went on. "But Itty has to be fed on the quiet for the present. The Doctor doesn't want the other animals to know about her until he can tell them himself. But you can understand it isn't going to be easy for me to get meals to her. Now what I was going to ask you to do is this: when I want to go and give—er—Itty food, I'll make a sign to you. Then you lead the other animals off somewhere or keep them busy till I get back, see?"

The parrot agreed she would do this. And for a while the plan worked all right. Every day when I wanted to take milk to the cat Polynesia would suggest to the animals that they should all go with her to see how the lettuce was coming up in the kitchen garden, or something like that. And the coast would be left clear for me to attend to Itty.

The cat began gradually to get used to my visits, and when she saw that I meant to do her no more harm than to bring her milk she actually became friendly in a strange awkward way.

However, the household finally got suspicious. Maybe Polynesia's excuses for getting them out of the way began to grow stale. Anyway, Gub–Gub asked me one evening what was the reason for my disappearing so mysteriously at the same hour every day. Then Too–Too, that bird with the keenest ears in the world, remarked that she had heard strange unearthly noises in the attic. (The attic was where I had stored the Doctor's moon baggage.) And finally Jip—who had been decorated with a golden dog collar for his cleverness in smelling—said he had sniffed a new queer scent on the upper stairs.

I began to get uncomfortable. I glanced across at Polynesia to see if I would get any help from her. But the old rascal was gazing up at the ceiling, humming a Danish sea song to herself, pretending not to hear a word of the conversation. Chee–Chee, the only other one in the secret, was frightfully busy clearing up the hearth, in hopes, no doubt, that he wouldn't be asked any questions. The white mouse was watching, silent, from the mantelpiece, his big pink eyes wide open with curiosity. I heard Dab–Dab through the open door to the pantry, drying dishes at the sink. I got more uncomfortable still.

"Tell me, Tommy," said Jip, "what's in all that baggage the Doctor brought down from the moon?"

"Oh—er—plants," I said, "moon plants, and seeds—no end of seeds, Jip; things the Doctor wants to try out down here on the earth to see how they'll do."

"But this wasn't any plant smell which I caught," said Jip. "It was something quite different."

"What was it like?" asked Too–Too.

"Seemed like an animal," said the dog.

"What kind of an animal?" asked the white mouse.

"I couldn't quite make out," said Jip. "It was very queer. It set the hair on my back all tingling. And I couldn't understand why. Is there nothing else but plants in that baggage, Tommy?"

For a long minute I remained silent while all the animals watched me, waiting for an answer. At last Polynesia said,

"Oh, you might as well tell them, Tommy. They're bound to know sooner or later."

"Very well, then," I said. "The Doctor had asked me not to say anything for the present. But I see it can't be helped. There's a cat in the baggage."

Polynesia squawked at the hated word. Jip jumped as though he'd been shot. Too–Too let out a long low whistle. Dab–Dab in the pantry dropped a plate on the floor where it broke with a loud crash—the first time she had ever done such a thing in her life. Gub–Gub grunted with disgust. As for the white mouse, he uttered one piercing squeal and fainted dead away on the mantelpiece. I jumped up and dashed a teaspoonful of water in his face. He came to immediately.

"Gracious!" he gasped. "Such a shock!"

"What," I asked, "the water?"

"No," said he, "the cat. Oh, how could he? How could the Doctor have done it?"

"The place will never be the same again," groaned Too–Too.

"Oh, me, oh, my!" wailed Gub–Gub, shaking his head sadly. "How awful!"

Dab–Dab stood in the pantry doorway, shaking with sobs. "It can't be true," she kept saying; "it just can't be true."

"A cat!" muttered Jip. "I should have known! Nothing else could have made my spine tingle like that but the smell of a cat. Gosh! I'll chase her off the place."

Then they all broke out together in a general uproar. Some were for going away at once, leaving the beloved home they had enjoyed so long. Some begged to be allowed to see the Doctor and ask him to send the animal away. Others, like Jip, swore they would drive her out. Panic, pandemonium and bedlam broke loose in the kitchen.

"Stop it!" I cried at last. "Stop it! Now listen to me, all of you. You're just making a lot of fuss without knowing what you're talking about. You ought to know the Doctor well enough by now to be sure he would not bring anything here which will make any of you unhappy. I admit I'm not fond of cats in a general way myself—neither is Polynesia. But this cat is different. It's a moon cat. It may have all sorts of new ideas on cat behaviour. It may have messages for us. The Doctor is fond of it. He wants to study it."

"But, Tommy," squeaked the white mouse, "our lives won't be safe for a moment."

"Please be quiet, Whitey," I said sharply. "How many times have you heard John Dolittle say, 'Man, as a race, is the most selfish of all creatures'?"

"There's nothing as selfish as a cat," put in Jip with a growl.

"How often," I went on, "have you heard him railing against people who are for ever spouting about glorious freedom while they deny it to animals? Are you going to be like that? You haven't met this cat. You know nothing about her. And yet you all start squawking like a lot of day–old chicks as soon as I mention her."

"She'll have to wear a bell—she'll have to!" cried Dab–Dab. "Cats when they come sneaking up in the dark just give me the heebee–jeebees. I couldn't stand it. I'd have to leave home—after all these years!"

She began to weep again.

"Calm yourself, Dab–Dab," I said, "please! At least I expected some sense from you." I turned to the others. "This cat is a sportsman, every one must give her that credit. She trusted the Doctor enough to ask to be brought down to the earth. Which of you would have the courage, if a strange man came, down from the moon, to ask to be taken away from this world and planted on another you had never seen? Answer me that."

Rather to my surprise, my long high–sounding speech seemed to have quite an effect on them. When I ended there was a thoughtful silence. Presently Jip said quietly,

"Humph! You're right, Tommy. That certainly was plucky. She took a big gamble."

"Now I'm going to ask you all," I said, "for the Doctor's sake, to treat this cat with kindness and consideration. You haven't got to like her if you can't. But at least let us be polite and fair to her."

"Well," said Dab–Dab with a sigh, "I hope it will work out all right. But if she goes and has kittens in my linen cupboard I'll fly south with the first flock of wild ducks that passes over the garden, as sure as shooting!"

"Don't worry," I said. "Leave her to the Doctor. He'll know how to manage her. I can't even talk her language yet. She is still very shy and wild. But she'll fit in all right, once she gets used to us all."

Little Chee–Chee the monkey, squatting by the hearth, spoke up for the first time.

"She's smart," he said, "a bit mysterious and queer—and independent as the dickens too—but mighty clever. Polynesia wouldn't bother to learn her funny language. But I picked up a few words of it."

"And another thing," I said, "you need have no fears about her slaughtering other creatures. She has promised the Doctor not to kill birds and"—I glanced up at Whitey on the mantelpiece—"not to eat mice."

"What's her name?" asked Gub–Gub.

"Her name is Itty," I said.

"Humph!" murmured the white mouse thoughtfully. "Itty, eh? Itty—Pretty!"

"Are you trying to make up poetry, Whitey?" asked Gub–Gub.

"Oh, no," said the white mouse, airily twirling his whiskers. "That's just called doggerel."

"Whattere??" barked Jip in disgust.

"Doggerel," said the white mouse.

"Cat–and–doggerel, I'd call it," grunted Gub–Gub.

And they all giggled and went off to bed in a much better mood than I had hoped for.

11 The Doctor's Accident

By the end of the week the Doctor was showing a great improvement in health. So far he had lived almost entirely on milk, eggs and lettuce. These three foods seemed to strengthen him better than anything else. And it was a good thing that they did. Because we could not have afforded a more expensive diet. The lettuce, of course, cost practically nothing while we could grow it in the garden. (Gub–Gub and I planted several new beds of it.) Just the same, I was gladder than ever that I had my bookkeeping job. I saved every penny I could out of the three shillings and sixpence a week, in case anything unexpected should turn up which might require a special lot of money.

I still slept in the Doctor's tent in case he should need anything during the night. One morning early he called me to him and said,

"Stubbins, I'm feeling pretty well. I think I'll try to get up to–day."

"But, Doctor," I said, "are you sure you'll be strong enough?"

"No, I'm not sure," he said. "But the only way to find out is to try. Help me into that suit which Theodosia made for me, will you?"

I was very anxious. At the same time I was very glad. I helped him on with his clothes; but when it came to helping him to stand up and walk, I found I wasn't much use. Though I measured then something over five feet and a quarter, he had to bend down to reach my shoulder. And he was terribly afraid he might fall on me.

However, after I had cut a long walking–stick for him out of the forest, he managed to hobble around the tent pretty well. Then he got more adventurous still and wanted to go out into the garden. I did my best to persuade him not to but he tried it anyway. He actually got half–way across the lawn before he sank down from weariness.

The next day he did better still. It was strange to see his towering form walking about the turf, his head occasionally disappearing among the leaves of the high elm–trees. This time after a few rests he said he would like to go as far as the Zoo enclosure. And when he got to it he actually stepped over the ten–foot wall instead of bothering with the door.

After that he was impatient to get into the house. There was one door to the old building which was never used by us. Closed up for years now, its faded green paint and tarnished brass knocker faced towards the Long Lawn, the same as did the back door. But it was always known for some reason or other as the side door. The Doctor was sitting against one of the elms, staring at it while taking a rest.

"You know, Stubbins," said he, "I believe I could get through that door."

"Oh, Doctor," I said, "why, it isn't half your height!"

"I didn't mean to try it standing up," he said. "But by lying down and sort of worming my way in I think I might manage it. You see, it's a double door. A very long time ago, before the days of my great–grandfather, they used to use that door for garden parties—in fact it was the main door. There was a drive running up to it too, close to the house, where the pæony beds are now. Just open it and take a few measurements for me, will you? It is my hips that will be the difficulty. If they'll go through the rest of me will."

So I got the long garden tape and measured the width of the Doctor's hips. Then after hunting with Dab–Dab through all the drawers in the house I found the key to the side door. Its hinges creaked with age and rust as we swung both halves of it open.

I went back to the Doctor.

"It looks to me as if it should be all right," I said—"that is, as far as the width of the doorframe is concerned. But what are you going to do when you get inside?"

"Oh, the headroom of the hall there is extra high," he said. "Let's try it, Stubbins."

Well, that was when we had our accident. By wriggling and squirming the Doctor got in—halfway. There he stuck. Dab–Dab was in a terrible state of mind. I pushed him to see if I could get him all the way in. Then I pulled at him to see if I could get him out. But I couldn't budge him either way. I had made a mistake of six inches in my measurements.

"We had better get some carpenters and workmen in, Tommy," said Dab–Dab. "We certainly can't leave him like this."

"No, don't do that," said the Doctor. "You'll have the whole town here gaping at me. Get Matthew to come."

So I sent off Too–Too to bring the Cats'–meat–Man to the rescue.

Matthew scratched his head when he saw the Doctor's legs sticking out into the garden and the other half of him inside the house.

"Well, now, wait a minute, Tommy," said he. "Yer see that fan–light window over the door? If you give me a saw and a ladder I can maybe cut away the 'ead of the door–frame."

"But won't the bricks come tumbling down, then?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so," said Matthew. "The frame of the window–arch will 'old the wall up. Give me a saw. D'yer mind if I stand on top of you, Doctor?"

"Not a bit," said John Dolittle. "Only get me either in or out. Don't leave me as I am."

I got a saw; and Matthew—who was a very handy man with tools—climbed up on top of the Doctor and sawed away the door–head. This gave us, after we had got the glass out of the window, another foot and a half clearance. The Doctor squirmed and wriggled some more.

"Ah!" he said presently. "I think I can manage now. But I'll have to go in, not out."

We next drove a stake into the ground to give him something to push against with his feet. The rest of the animals stood around while, with much grunting and puffing, he finally forced the whole of his big body into the hall. He lay down with a sigh.

"Splendid," he said, "splendid!"

"But you can't sit up—where you are, Doctor, can you?" I asked.

"Half a mo', Doctor," said Matthew. "Wait till I cut a 'ole in the ceilin'. We can put the boards back afterwards so no one would know the difference. Wait while I run upstairs. I'll 'ave you comfortable."

The Cats'–meat–Man ran round by the kitchen stairs and soon we heard him sawing away at the floor above. Bits of plaster began falling on the Doctor; but Chee–Chee and the white mouse cleared them off him as fast as they fell.

Before long a hole appeared in the hall ceiling big enough even for the Doctor's head to go through.

"Thank you, Matthew," said John Dolittle. "What would I do without you?"

He hoisted himself into a sitting position, and his head disappeared from my sight into the opening.

"Ah!" I heard him say with a sigh. "Here I am, home at last! Upstairs and downstairs at the same time. Splendid!"

After he had taken a rest he managed to turn himself right around inside the hall. Then, facing the door once more, he tried to get out into the garden. It was a hard job. He got stuck again half–way.

"Listen, Doctor," said the white mouse, "and I'll tell you what we mice do when we want to get through a specially small hole."

"I wish you would!" said the Doctor, puffing.

"First you breathe in, deep," said Whitey. "Then you breathe out, long. Then you hold your breath. Then you shut your eyes and think that the hole is only half as big as it is. Of course if you're a mouse you think that a cat is coming after you as well. But you needn't bother about that. Try it. You'll see. You'll slide through like silk. Now, a deep breath—in, out—and don't forget to shut your eyes. Do it by feeling. Just imagine you're a mouse."

"All right," said the Doctor. "I'll try. It's hard on the imagination, but it should be awfully good for my figure."

Whether there was anything in Whitey's advice or not, I don't know. But, anyway, at the second attempt the Doctor got through all right and scrambled out on the lawn laughing like a schoolboy.

We were all very happy now that he could get both in and out of the house. Right away we brought in the mattresses from the tent under the trees and turned the big hall into a bedroom for him. He said he found it very comfortable, even if he did have to pull his knees up a bit when he wanted to sleep.

Before long, finding himself so much better, John Dolittle gave all his attention to bringing his size down to a natural one. First he tried exercise. We rigged up a heavy sweater for him made out of a couple of eiderdown quilts. And in this he ran up and down the Long Lawn before breakfast. His thundering tread shook the whole garden till the dishes rattled on the pantry shelves and the pictures began falling from the walls in the parlour.

"He ran up and down the Long Lawn before breakfast"

But this did not thin him down fast enough to satisfy him. Some one suggested massage. So we laid him out on the lawn and Matthew, Chee–Chee and I pommelled and pounded him for hours. He said it reminded him of the time when the elephant fell sick in the circus and he and all the crew had climbed aboard the animal with ladders to rub the pains out of it, till everybody had to stop with stiff muscles.

Gub–Gub asked why we didn't use the lawn–roller on him. But we decided this would be a little too drastic.

"Why don't you try it on yourself, Gubby?" Jip said. "Your figure could do with a little taking down, too."

"What's the matter with my figure?" said Gub–Gub, gazing down at his ample curves. "Why, I wouldn't change it for anything!"

It proved to be a slow business for the poor Doctor, this getting back to ordinary size. But he certainly kept at it with a will. And soon with the diet, the exercise and the massage (besides, of course, the change of climate and gravity) he began to look more like himself.

12 The Moon Museum

But all of us, including John Dolittle, saw that it was still probably a matter of some weeks before he would be able to carry on a usual life the same as other people. He could not yet pass through an ordinary door without going down on all fours; he could not sit in the biggest armchair without the arms breaking off; he could not grasp a common pencil or pen in his huge fingers and make it write properly.

This annoyed him greatly. He was so eager to get at his notes. He planned to write a new book, a book about the moon.

"It will be the greatest thing I have ever done, Stubbins," he said—"that is, of course, if I make a good job of it. And even if I don't, it will at least contain information of great value for future writers on natural history. The general public will probably begin by thinking I'm a great humbug or a splendid liar. But the day will come when they'll believe me."

I, too, of course was very keen for him to get at those notes. Being his secretary I should have to help him and so would get a glimpse of what studies and experiments he had made. But Dab–Dab was of quite another mind about it.

"Tommy," she said, "there's no hurry about that book he wants to write. I don't mean to say it isn't important—though, for my part, I can't see much sense in mixing up the moon and the earth, as though life weren't mixed up enough as it is for simple country folk. But the main thing is this: you know how he is—once he gets started on a new line of work he goes at it like a crazy man, night and day; doesn't stop for meals; doesn't stop for sleep; nothing but work. He isn't strong enough yet for that sort of thing. For pity's sake keep him away from those notes—at least till he is perfectly well."

As a matter of fact, there was no urgent need at present for the housekeeper's fears. The Doctor himself saw that there was not much sense in his attempting to write a long book until he could move round his study without upsetting things, or smashing delicate laboratory apparatus with clumsy experiments.

By daytime he contented himself with exercising and with some gardening. He had brought many different sorts of seeds with him from the moon, also roots of plants. He wanted to see if these could be grown in our world, and what differences they would show in new climate and conditions. Some were vegetables and fruits, good to eat. In these, of course, Gub–Gub was especially interested; and he immediately started to keep notes on his own account, planning to make a new volume for his famous Encyclopedia of Food. This volume was to be called Moon Meals.

With the pig's assistance the Doctor and I planted rows and rows of new and strange–shaped seeds. All the rows were carefully marked with wooden labels giving the date of planting and the kind of soil. The temperature, the air–pressure, the amount of rainfall, etc., were noted down from day to day in a book we called the Garden Diary. With one kind of these seeds the Doctor told me to be particularly careful.

"This plant," said he—"if it comes up, Stubbins—may prove exceedingly useful. From it I got the leaves I made my clothes out of—you know, the coat I was wearing when I arrived. Extraordinarily tough and pliable. I found a way of tanning them like leather. Every bit as good as real cloth."

In that great bulk of baggage which he had brought down with him were also the eggs and grubs of insects: ants, bees, water–flies, moths and what–not. These had to have special hatching–boxes made for them, so they could be kept warm during cool nights; while others had to be planted in proper places in the garden, among grasses or trees, where they would be likely to find food and conditions to their liking.

Then again, he had brought sacks full of geological specimens; that is, rocks, pieces of marble, something that looked like coal and all manner of samples out of the hand–made mines he had dug in the mountains of the moon. Among them were pieces that had precious stones in them—or what looked like precious stones—pebbles and crystals that could have been opals, sapphires, amethysts and rubies. And fossils he had too—shells of curious snails, fishes, lizards and strange frogs that no longer lived either on earth or moon—all turned now to stone as hard as flint.

To take care of these we added another department to the Doctor's many–sided establishment. We called it the Moon Museum. In a disused harness–room of the big stable I set up shelves round the walls and even showcases with glass tops. And here were placed all the fossils and geological specimens along with some very beautiful pressed flowers and leaves which had also come down in the baggage.

Jip suggested that I should put the cat there, in a glass case too—so that she wouldn't get hurt.

I was very proud of my job when it was done. I must say it did look like a regular museum; and the Doctor was no end pleased with its workmanlike, scientific appearance.

"You have a real gift for order and neatness in these things, Stubbins," he said. "That's the trouble with me—never could be orderly or neat. My sister Sarah—she used to be housekeeper for me, you know—she was always at me about my untidiness. In fact that's why she left me to go and get married. Poor dear Sarah, I wonder how she's getting on. An excellent woman–in many ways. But this, Stubbins, this is splendid! And you've done it all yourself. What would I do without you?"

But though with one thing and another the Doctor managed to keep quite busy during the daylight hours, it was not so with the evenings and nights. Usually in times past he had filled this part of the day writing in his study, doing experiments in his laboratory and, once in a while, reading aloud in the kitchen when the animals of his household could persuade him to leave his work and amuse them.

It had never been his habit to take much sleep. In fact I would often, after I had left him late at night, find him again the next morning working away with his lamp still burning, apparently quite unaware that the morning sun was shining in his window.

But now it was very different. He retired to his bedroom in the big hall regularly after supper; and I, knowing that he would not sleep for hours, would sit up and read the newspapers to him or just chat with him of this and that.

As I have said, I had been careful not to ask him questions about the moon until he wished to speak of it himself. I am proud of my own patience in this; for any one can imagine how keen I was to learn how he had at last got away from the Moon Man—and a thousand other things besides.

So far he had said little or nothing of his last months in that other world. But it was natural that in our talks after supper he would sooner or later get started. And at last one evening he did.

"By the way, Stubbins," said he, "what became of Bumpo? He was here with you when I left. Where is he now?"

"He was gone before I got down from the moon, Doctor," I said. "He left messages for us with Matthew. It seems he wanted to go back to Oxford to visit some of his old friends and perhaps to take up some new studies there too. He couldn't tell just how long he would be gone. But he said he would certainly Come and visit you again before he went back to Africa."

"Well, I'm glad of that," said the Doctor. "Fine fellow, Prince Bumpo, one of the best…. Yes, yes. There have been many times when I don't know what I would have done without him. But tell me, Stubbins, do you remember how long it took the Giant Moth to bring you down?"

"Not exactly, Doctor," I answered. "Passing through the dead belt, I got awfully sick, dazed and mixed up. And then my mind was so full of worry about having left you up there alone, I don't know that I should have remembered anyway."

"Humph!" said he thoughtfully. "It's a pity you can't remember. I wanted to make a little calculation between the speed of your moth and that of my locust—that is for the downward journey. But you have no cause to blame yourself for leaving me. You never had a chance to do anything else. You see, the Moon Man, Otho Bludge, wanted to get rid of you: but he wanted to keep me. I had quite a time with him when I wanted to get back here. That is after—"

I interrupted him. I knew something interesting was coming—that at last he was going to speak of how he got away. Many more ears besides mine wanted to hear that story.

"Pardon me, Doctor," I said. "But would you mind if I got the animals in, so they can listen? I know they are all longing to hear what happened after I left you."

"Why, yes, certainly," he said. "Bring them in by all means. As a matter of fact, I meant to have told you all, before this, about my last days up there. But I have been talking those moon languages for such a long time, I found I had grown sort of rusty and hesitating in speaking the languages of my own world. But they are coming back to me now and I think I can manage all right—that is, if you don't mind my speaking slowly."

"Of course, Doctor," I said as I got up, "we understand that. But you will promise not to over–tire yourself, won't you? Send us all away the first minute you feel weary."

He said he would. And I ran out into the garden to go round to the kitchen. In the dusk on the lawn I bumped into Matthew Mugg, who had just arrived to pay John Dolittle a visit.

"The Doctor's going to tell us how he got off the moon, Matthew," I said. "Would you like to come and listen?"

"You bet I would, Tommy," said he. "But of course if he talks in them animal lingos I won't understand the same as what you will. Never mind, you can explain to me afterwards. But I wouldn't miss it for anything. No, you bet I'll come!"

Then I ran on and found the animals gathered round the big fireplace in the kitchen. Here I spied another visitor, Cheapside. The sparrow had "popped over" from London to hear the latest news of his old friend. They all let out a whoop of joy when I told them that at last they were going to hear the tale they had waited for so long.

And so, with two guests added to our own company, it was quite a circle that gathered round the Doctor that night. I had brought pencil and notebooks with me. For some months back I had been studying shorthand. And I was anxious to see if I could take down his words as fast as he spoke them. "Ah!" whispered the white mouse, tittering with eager excitement as he settled down to listen, "Tommy, this is like old times!"