had just been to Tubbyland—a habit which annoyed the rest of the Toys unutterably, for they none of them really believed her.
“She’ll come back when she gets tired of it,” said Anna wisely. “Stop chattering so much. Little chickens should be seen and not heard!”
“But she hasn’t gone to Tubbyland,” the Easter Chicken insisted. I tell you she’s stolen! Murrum stole her!”
“Now you’re telling fibs!” exclaimed Virginia May severely. “You know you are always making things up. I don’t believe you.”
“He’s had a nightmare,” suggested the Lion. “Go back to bed, Chicken, and keep quiet!”
“But it’s true! It’s true! The Money-Pig saw him!”
“I didn’t!” cried the Money-Pig hastily, for he was afraid of being blamed. “I was fast asleep. He woke me up. I’m feeling very unwell!”
“Of course she’s gone to Tubbyland!” said Gladys. “She was always talking about it. Besides, no one’s seen Murrum for two days.”
But at the word “Murrum” an uncomfortable chill fell on the party. However boldly they might talk when they were together, there was not one of them would have liked to meet Murrum alone, especially at night, unless it was Poor Cecco, and Poor Cecco was away. They shifted their feet and looked at one another uneasily. If only Poor Cecco were here this question would soon be settled.
