When they woke up again they could only hear Father’s voice very loud, and Mother, laughing away. Father came out of the dining-room, bounded up the stairs, and nearly fell over them. “Hullo!” he said. “By Jove, Kitty, come and look at this.” Mother came out. “Oh, you naughty children,” said she from the hall. “Let’s have ’em down and give ’em a bone,” said Father. Sun had never seen him so jolly. “No, certainly not,” said Mother. “Oh, my Daddy, do! Do have us down,” said Moon. “I’m hanged if I won’t,” cried Father. “I won’t be bullied. Kitty—way there.” And he caught them up, one under each arm. Sun thought Mother would have been dreadfully cross. But she wasn’t. She kept on laughing at Father. “Oh, you dreadful boy!” said she. But she didn’t mean Sun. “Come on, kiddies. Come and have some pickings,” said this jolly Father. But Moon stopped a minute. “Mother—your dress is right off one side.” “Is it?” said Mother. And Father said “Yes” and pretended to bite her white shoulder, but she pushed him away. And so they went back to the beautiful dining-room. But—oh! oh! what had happened. The ribbons and the roses were all pulled untied. The little red table napkins lay on the floor, all the shining plates were dirty and all the winking glasses. The lovely food that the man had trimmed was all thrown about, and there were bones and bits and fruit peels and shells everywhere. There was even a bottle lying down with stuff coming out of it on to the cloth and nobody stood it up again. And the little pink house with the snow roof and the green windows was broken—broken—half melted away in the centre of the table. “Come on, Sun,” said Father, pretending not to notice. Moon lifted up her pyjama legs and shuffled up to the table and stood on a chair, squeaking away. “Have a bit of this ice,” said Father, smashing in some more of the roof. Mother took a little plate and held it for him; she put her other arm round his neck. “Daddy. Daddy,” shrieked Moon. “The little handle’s left. The little nut. Kin I eat it?” And she reached across and picked it out of the door and scrunched it up, biting hard and blinking. “Here, my lad,” said Father. But Sun did not move from the door. Suddenly he put up his head and gave a loud wail. “I think it’s horrid—horrid—horrid!” he sobbed. “There, you see!” said Mother. “You see!” “Off with you,” said Father, no longer jolly. “This moment. Off you go!” And wailing loudly, Sun stumped off to the nursery. Feuille d’Album