This lighted hope in every breast, and they went on exploring the castle. But though it was the most perfect and delightful castle you can possibly imagine, and furnished in the most complete and beautiful manner, neither food nor men-at-arms were to be found in it. "If you'd only thought of wishing to be besieged in a castle thoroughly garrisoned and provisioned!" said Jane reproachfully. "You can't think of everything, you know," said Anthea. "I should think it must be nearly dinner-time by now." It wasn't; but they hung about watching the strange movements of the servants in the middle of the courtyard, because, of course, they couldn't be sure where the dining-room of the invisible house was. Presently they saw Martha carrying an invisible tray across the courtyard, for it seemed that, by the most fortunate accident, the dining-room of the house and the banqueting-hall of the castle were in the same place. But oh, how their hearts sank when they perceived that the tray _was_ invisible! They waited in wretched silence while Martha went through the form of carving an unseen leg of mutton and serving invisible greens and potatoes with a spoon that no one could see. When she had left the room, the children looked at the empty table, and then at each other. "This is worse than anything," said Robert, who had not till now been particularly keen on his dinner. "I'm not so very hungry," said Anthea, trying to make the best of things, as usual. Cyril tightened his belt ostentatiously. Jane burst into tears. CHAPTER VII A SIEGE AND BED The children were sitting in the gloomy banqueting-hall, at the end of one of the long bare wooden tables. There was now no hope. Martha had brought in the dinner, and the dinner was invisible, and unfeelable too; for, when they rubbed their hands along the table, they knew but too well that for them there was nothing there _but_ table. Suddenly Cyril felt in his pocket. "Right, _oh_!" he cried. "Look here! Biscuits." Somewhat broken and crumbled, certainly, but still biscuits. Three whole ones, and a generous handful of crumbs and fragments. "I got 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."