Meanwhile, far below, the tramp of men continued, until suddenly an immense roar filled the room. Some of the bars shivered and clinked, and Michael’s heart nearly stopped. The roar died away only to be succeeded by another roar from the opposite direction. Stella woke up crying. Michael was too deeply frightened so to soothe himself, as he sat clutching the pointed ears of the grey pillow. Stella, feeling that the fretful tears of a sudden awakening were insufficient, set up a bellow of dismay. Michael was motionless, only aware of a gigantic heart that shook him horribly. At last the footsteps of Nurse could be heard, and over them, the quick ‘tut-tut-tuts’ that voiced her irritation. “You naughty boy, to wake up your little sister.” “What was that noise?” asked Michael. “Your own noise,” said Nurse sharply. “It wasn’t. It was lions.” “And if it _was_ lions, what next?” said Nurse. “Lions will always come, when little boys are naughty. Lions don’t like naughty boys.” “Michael doesn’t like lions.” He took refuge in the impersonal speech of earlier days, and with a grave obstinacy of demeanour resisted the unreasonableness of his nurse. “What was that noise, Nanny? Do tell me.” “Why a train, of course. There’s a molly-coddle. Tut-tut!” “A train like we rode in from down in the country?” “Yes, a train like we rode in from down in the country!” Nurse mimicked him in an outrageous falsetto. “Not lions at all?” “Not if you’re a good boy.” “Nor bears—nor tigers—nor wolverines?” The last was a dreadful importation of fancy from some zoological gift-book. “Now that’s enough,” Nurse decided. “Nor laughing hyenas?” “Am I to speak to you again? As if there wasn’t enough to do without children why-why-whying morning, noon and night.” Michael recognized finality of argument. The mention of morning, noon and night with their dreary suggestion of the infinite and unattainable plunged him into silence. Nurse, gratified by her victory and relieved to find that Stella was crooning happy mysteries to a rag doll, announced that she was prepared in return for the very best behaviour to push the two cots against the window. This done, she left the children to their first survey of London airs, to silent wonder amid the cheeping of countless sparrows. Stella sat blinking at the light and the sailing clouds. She soon began to chant her saga. Primitive and immemorial sounds flowed from that dewy mouth; melodies and harmonies, akin to the day itself, voiced the progress of the clouds; and while she told her incommunicable delight