THE BOOK OF BETTY BARBER.
And the procession moved along as quietly as a number of mice.
The Violets climbed into the basket, and hid in the roll of white needlework; the horses walked on the tips of their hoofs, and very funny they looked, too; never a “baa” was heard from a sheep, nor a click from Mr. Snip himself.
They heard voices calling, “The Court of the Grand Panjandrum is assembling, the Court of the Grand Panjandrum!”
But they only walked more quickly, crept along more quietly without speaking a word. The road began to get narrower, the hedges on each side of it thicker. Mr. Snip motioned to the procession to stop. Then he lay on his back close to the hedge, and quietly kick, kick, kicked until he had kicked a hole in the hedge. He peeped through the hole, and beckoned to the Fraction, and the Fraction peeped through, too, and they both nodded to the others to tell them that it was all right—that this was the place.
The Rooks slipped their heads out of their silk reins, the Needle, Thimble, and Violets jumped lightly out of the basket, the work in the basket began to unroll itself, trying hard not to sigh and groan, for it was rather stiff and uncomfortable. Lucy had squeezed it up so very tight.
Mr. Snip kicked a few more holes in the hedge, motioned each of his helpers by signs to a place, put the Fraction in front of a hole close beside him, and as the voice called, “The Court of the Grand Panjandrum is assembled,” Mr. Snip nodded to the Fraction, and even ventured to whisper the tiniest of whispers, “So are we.”
