“I give you my word,” said Fabian, “I wouldn’t think of such a thing.” “Very well,” said the Mouse, “then I will tell you. It is a great secret, but there is only one way to get out of this kind of town. You—I hardly know how to explain—you—you just _walk out of the gate_, you know.” “Dear me,” said Rosamund; “I never thought of that!” So they all went to the gate of the town and walked out, and there they were in the library again. But when they looked out of the window the All-Wool Mausoleum was still to be seen, and the terrible blue soldiers. “What are we to do now?” asked Rosamund; but the clockwork mouse and the donkey with panniers were their proper size again now (or else the children had got bigger. It is no use asking me which, for I do not know), and so of course they could not speak. “We must walk out of this town as we did out of the other,” said Fabian. “Yes,” Rosamund said; “only this town if full of blue soldiers and I am afraid of them. Don’t you think it would do if we _ran_ out?” So out they ran and down the steps that were made of the “Spectator” and the “Rambler” and the “Tatler” and the “Observer.” And directly they stood on the brown library carpet they ran to the window and looked out, and they saw—instead of the building with Windsor Castle and Rebecca’s head in it, and the All-Wool Mausoleum—they saw their own road with the trees without any leaves and the man was just going along lighting the lamps with the stick that the gas-light pops out of, like a bird, to roost in the glass cage at the top of the lamp-post. So they knew that they were safe at home again. And as they stood looking out they heard the library door open, and Mother’s voice saying— “What a dreadful muddle! And what have you done with the raisins and the candied fruits?” And her voice was very grave indeed. Now you will see that it was quite impossible for Fabian and Rosamund to explain to their mother what they had done with the raisins and things, and how they had been in a town in a library in a house in a town they had built in their own library with the books and the bricks and the pretty picture blocks kind Uncle Thomas gave them. Because they were much younger than I am, and even I have found it rather hard to explain. So Rosamund said, “Oh, Mother, my head does ache so,” and began to cry. And Fabian said nothing, but he, also, began to cry. And Mother said, “I don’t wonder your head aches, after all those sweet things.” And she looked as if she would like to cry too. “I don’t know what Daddy will say,” said Mother, and then she gave them each a nasty powder and put them both to bed. “I wonder what he _will_ say,” said Fabian just before he went to sleep.