In the morning there were plum-pudding for breakfast, and roast duck and lemon jelly, and the day passed like a happy dream, only broken by surprising and delightful meals. The Ball woke up and showed them how to play water-polo; and they bounced him on the sand, with shrieks of joy and pleasure. You know, a Ball likes to be bounced by people he is fond of—it is like slapping a friend on the shoulder. There were no houses in “Whereyouwantogoto,” and no bathing machines or bands, no nursemaids or policemen or aunts or uncles. You could do exactly what you liked as long as you were good. “What will happen if we’re naughty?” Selim asked. The Ball looked very grave, and answered— “I must not tell you; and I very strongly advise you not to try to find out.” “We won’t—indeed, we won’t,” said they, and went off to play rounders with the rabbits on the downs—who were friendly fellows, and very keen on the game. On the third evening Thomasina was rather silent, and the Ball said, “What’s the matter, girl-bouncer? Out with it.” So she said, “I was wondering how mother is, and whether she has one of her bad headaches.” The Ball said, “Good little girl! Come with me and I’ll show you something.” He bounced away, and they followed him, and he flopped into a rocky pool, frightening the limpets and sea-anemones dreadfully, though he did not mean to. “Now look,” he called from under the water, and the children looked, and the pool was like a looking-glass, only it was not their own faces they saw in it. They saw the drawing-room at home, and father and mother, who were both quite well, only they looked tired—and the aunt and uncle were there—and Uncle Thomas was saying, “What a blessing those children are away.” “Then they know where we are?” said Selim to the Ball. “They think they know,” said the Ball, “or you think they think they know. Anyway, they’re happy enough. Good-night.” And he curled himself up like a ball in his favourite sleeping-place. The two children crept into their pleasant, soft, sweet nest of straw and leaves and fern and grass, and went to sleep. But Selim was vexed with Thomasina because she had thought of mother before he had, and he said she had taken all the fern—and they went to sleep rather cross. They woke crosser. So far they had both helped to make the bed every morning, but to-day neither wanted to. “I don’t see why I should make the beds,” said he; “it’s a girl’s work, not a boy’s.” “I don’t see why I should do it,” said Thomasina; “it’s a servant’s place, not a young lady’s.” And then a very strange and terrible thing happened. Quite suddenly, out of nothing and out of nowhere, appeared a housemaid—large and stern and very neat indeed, and she said— “You are quite right, miss; it is my place to make the beds. And I am instructed to see that you are both in bed by seven.” Think how dreadful this must have been to children who had been going to bed just when they felt inclined. They went out on to the beach.