One by one they left off talking and leaned back, and before it was a
quarter of an hour after dinner they had all curled round and tucked
themselves up under their large soft warm wings and were fast asleep.
And the sun was sinking slowly in the west. (I must say it was in the
west, because it is usual in books to say so, for fear careless people
should think it was setting in the east. In point of fact, it was not
exactly in the west either--but that's near enough.) The sun, I repeat,
was sinking slowly in the west, and the children slept warmly and
happily on--for wings are cosier than eider-down quilts to sleep under.
The shadow of the church-tower fell across the churchyard, and across
the Vicarage, and across the field beyond; and presently there were no
more shadows, and the sun had set, and the wings were gone. And still
the children slept. But not for long. Twilight is very beautiful, but it
is chilly; and you know, however sleepy you are, you wake up soon enough
if your brother or sister happens to be up first and pulls your blankets
off you. The four wingless children shivered and woke. And there they
were,--on the top of a church-tower in the dusky twilight, with blue
stars coming out by ones and twos and tens and twenties over their
heads,--miles away from home, with three shillings and three-halfpence
in their pockets, and a doubtful act about the necessities of life to
be accounted for if anyone found them with the soda-water syphon.

They looked at each other. Cyril spoke first, picking up the syphon--

"We'd better get along down and get rid of this beastly thing. It's dark
enough to leave it on the clergyman's doorstep, I should think. Come
on."

There was a little turret at the corner of the tower, and the little
turret had a door in it. They had noticed this when they were eating,
but had not explored it, as you would have done in their place. Because,
of course, when you have wings and can explore the whole sky, doors seem
hardly worth exploring.

Now they turned towards it.

"Of course," said Cyril "this is the way down."

It was. But the door was locked on the inside!

And the world was growing darker and darker. And they were miles from
home. And there was the soda-water syphon.

I shall not tell you whether anyone cried, nor, if so, how many cried,
nor who cried. You will be better employed in making up your minds what
you would have done if you had been in their place.

CHAPTER