The kitchen was very like the other rooms, nearly all paint. It worried Molly a little to notice that the sink was painted on the wall, and she wondered however Mr Papingay managed to wash up the cups and saucers in the tin bowl that was painted inside the sink; especially as the taps and cups and saucers appeared to be real. But she was afraid to ask any questions in case it delayed the “exciting” news that they were longing to hear. A quick glance at the kitchen window sill on entering the room showed them that there was no plant-pot there now. After Mr Papingay had taken them a tour of the kitchen and they had admired everything from the oven with the painted round of beef on the shelf to the painted egg-whisk hanging on the dresser, their host bade them be seated on a bench by the kitchen window—which happened to be a real bench, much to Jack’s relief—and then he said: “There is something I think you ought to know.” He shut the kitchen door carefully so that the servant painted in the passage should not hear, while the children’s hearts began to beat rapidly. Mr Papingay came back and stood before them. “The Grey Pumpkin has returned to this land,” he said solemnly, then waited for the exclamations of amazement which did not come. “Of course, we know,” said Jack, after a short pause. Mr Papingay looked both surprised and offended. “Why, how’s this?” he asked. And the children told him, and explained about the search they were making. “Well, well, well,” he said at length. “I’ve been searching for the Black Leaf too. I searched every inch of the Orange Wood thoroughly, directly I heard the Pumpkin was back again. _And_—this is what I really wanted to tell you—what do you think I did when I found that the Black Leaf wasn’t anywhere in the wood?” he asked excitedly. “What?” cried both children together. “Painted a Black Leaf,” he said triumphantly, beaming with joy. “And here it is.” He opened a cupboard door behind him and disclosed a plant-pot (which was real) in which grew a black leaf (which was painted). In fact it was so entirely artificial that it wasn’t even a real leaf coloured black: it was cut out of newspaper, and painted with a thick black paint. Jack and Molly did not speak for a moment or two. They could not. They were so thoroughly disappointed. Had they wasted all this valuable time ‘humouring’ Mr Papingay for nothing more than this? They had hardly realized how high their hopes had been, until now, when they were flung to the ground. It was with an effort that Molly kept back her tears; as for Jack, he felt he would like to kick something. Meanwhile, Mr Papingay was perplexed at their silence. He lifted the pot down and set it on the floor in front of the bench. “Well, what do you think of it?” he asked. “What are you going to do with it?” asked Jack.