t them this morning--cook--and I'd quite forgotten," he explained
as he divided them with scrupulous fairness into four heaps.

They were eaten in a happy silence, though they had an odd taste,
because they had been in Cyril's pocket all the morning with a hank of
tarred twine, some green fir-cones, and a ball of cobbler's wax.

"Yes, but look here, Squirrel," said Robert; "you're so clever at
explaining about invisibleness and all that. How is it the biscuits are
here, and all the bread and meat and things have disappeared?"

"I don't know," said Cyril after a pause, "unless it's because _we_ had
them. Nothing about _us_ has changed. Everything's in my pocket all
right."

"Then if we _had_ the mutton it would be real," said Robert. "Oh, don't
I wish we could find it!"

"But we can't find it. I suppose it isn't ours till we've got it in our
mouths."

"Or in our pockets," said Jane, thinking of the biscuits.

"Who puts mutton in their pockets, goose-girl?" said Cyril. "But I
know--at any rate, I'll try it!"

He leaned over the table with his face about an inch from it, and kept
opening and shutting his mouth as if he were taking bites out of air.

"It's no good," said Robert in deep dejection. "You'll only---- Hullo!"

Cyril stood up with a grin of triumph, holding a square piece of bread
in his mouth. It was quite real. Everyone saw it. It is true that,
directly he bit a piece off, the rest vanished; but it was all right,
because he knew he had it in his hand though he could neither see nor
feel it. He took another bite from the air between his fingers, and it
turned into bread as he bit. The next moment all the others were
following his example, and opening and shutting their mouths an inch or
so from the bare-looking table. Robert captured a slice of mutton,
and--but I think I will draw a veil over the rest of this painful scene.
It is enough to say that they all had enough mutton, and that when
Martha came to change the plates she said she had never seen such a mess
in all her born days.

The pudding was, fortunately, a plain suet one, and in answer to
Martha's questions the children all with one accord said that they would
_not_ have molasses on it--nor jam, nor sugar--"Just plain, please,"
they said. Martha said, "Well, I never--what next, I wonder!" and went
away.

Then ensued another scene on which I will not dwell, for nobody looks
nice picking up slices of suet pudding from the table in its mouth,