‘Now I can read it,’ he said. ‘Are you David or Blaize? If David, where’s Blaize, and if Blaize, where’s David?’ ‘I’m both,’ said David. ‘You can’t be both of them,’ said the butler. ‘And I expect you’re neither of them. And why didn’t you go away?’ ‘You’ve given me too much curds,’ said a voice behind the door. ‘I’ve told you before to find some way to weigh the whey. It’s a curd before. Take it away!’ ‘That must be Miss Muffet,’ thought David. ‘There’s a girl creeping into it after all. I wonder if she makes puns all the time. I wish I hadn’t knocked.’ ‘No, I’m rationed about puns,’ said Miss Muffet, as if he had spoken aloud, ‘and I’ve had my week’s allowance now. But a margin’s allowed for margarine. Butter—margarine,’ she said in explanation. ‘I saw that, said David. ‘No, you didn’t: you heard it. Now, come in and shut the door, because the tuffet’s blowing about. And the moment you’ve shut the door, shut your eyes too, because I’m not quite ready. I’ll sing to you my last ballad while you’re waiting. I shall make it up as I go along.’ Accordingly David shut the door, and then his eyes, and Miss Muffet began to sing in a thin cracked voice: ‘As it fell out upon a day When margarine was cheap, It filled up all the grocers’ shops In buckets wide and deep. Ah, well-a-day! ah, ill-a-day! Matilda bought a heap. And it fell out upon a day When margarine was dear, Matilda bought a little more And made it into beer. Ah, well-a-day! ah, ill-a-day! It tasted rather queer. As it fell out upon a day There wasn’t any more; Matilda took her bottled beer And poured it on the floor. Ah, well-a-day! ah, ill-a-day! And that was all I saw.’ ‘Poor thing!’ said Miss Muffet. ‘Such a brief and mysterious career. Now you may open your eyes.’ David did so, and found himself in a large room, with all the furniture covered up as if the family was away. The butler was still standing on his head, squinting horribly at David’s card, and muttering to himself, ‘He can’t be both, and he may be neither. He may be either, but he can’t be both.’ In the middle of the room was a big round seat, covered with ribands which were still blowing about in the wind, and on it was seated a little old lady with horn spectacles, eating curds and whey out of a bowl that she held on her knees. ‘Come and sit on the tuffet at once,’ she said, ‘and then we’ll pretend that there isn’t room for the spider. Won’t that be a good joke? I like a bit of chaff with my spider. I expect the tuffet will bear, won’t it? But I can’t promise you any curds.’ ‘Thank you very much,’ said David politely, ‘but I don’t like curds.’