The Tapestry Room: A Child's RomanceMolesworth, Mrs.
Science
The Tapestry Room: A Child's Romance
Molesworth, Mrs.
Fantasy literature
Where did the corridor lead to? He ran on and on for some time without
thinking much about this, so interested was he in observing the lamps
and the pretty way in which the tints were arranged; but after a while
he began to find it a little monotonous, especially when he noticed that
at long intervals the colours repeated themselves, the succession of
shades beginning again from time to time.
"I shall learn them by heart if I go on here much longer," thought Hugh.
"I think I'll sit down a little to rest. Not that I feel tired of
walking, but I may as well sit down a little."
He did so--on the ground, there was nothing else to sit on--and then a
very queer thing happened. The lamps took to moving instead of him, so
that when he looked up at them the impression was just the same as when
he himself had been running along. The colours succeeded each other in
the same order, and Hugh began to wonder whether his eyes were not
deceiving him in some queer way.
"Anyhow, I'll run on a little farther," he said to himself, "and if I
don't come to the end of this passage soon, I'll run back again to the
other end. It feels just as if I had got inside a kaleidoscope."
He hastened on, and was beginning really to think of turning back again
and running the other way, when, all of a sudden--everything in this
queer tapestry world he had got into seemed to happen all of a sudden--a
little bell was heard to ring, clear and silvery, but not very loud, and
in another instant--oh dear!--all the pretty coloured lamps were
extinguished, and poor Hugh was left standing all in the dark. Where he
was he did not know, what to do he did not know; had he not been eight
years old on his last birthday I almost think he would have begun to
cry. He felt, too, all of a sudden so cold, even though before he had
got out of bed he had taken the precaution to put on his red flannel
dressing-gown, and till now had felt quite pleasantly warm. It was only
for half a moment, however, that the idea of crying came over him.
"I'm very glad poor little Jeanne isn't here," he said to himself by way
of keeping up his own courage; "she _would_ have been afraid. But as I'm
a boy it doesn't matter. I'll just try to find my way all the same. I
suppose it's some trick of that Dudu's."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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