that was left got flat and hard and square. The two feet turned into four feet, and they were iron feet, and there was no more Pridmore.
“Oh, my poor child,” said the King, “your maid has turned into an Automatic Machine.”
It was too true. The maid had turned into a machine such as those which you see in a railway station—greedy, grasping things which take your pennies and give you next to nothing in chocolate and no change.
But there was no chocolate to be seen through the glass of the machine that once had been Pridmore. Only little rolls of paper.
The King silently handed some pennies to Matilda. She dropped one into the machine and pulled out the little drawer. There was a scroll of paper. Matilda opened it and read—
“Don’t be tiresome.”
She tried again. This time it was—
“If you don’t give over I’ll tell your Ma first thing when she comes home.”
The next was—
“Go along with you do—always worrying;” so then Matilda knew.
“Yes,” said the King sadly, “I fear there’s no doubt about it. Your maid has turned
