"If she takes a balloon she will lose it. You had better let the balloon take her," exclaimed the Jackarandajam severely. "Take your places! Take your places!" cried the unseen porter. So everybody made a rush for the train, and they all entered a Pullman Car and sat down on the seats. "Dear me! How very incorrectly that porter speaks. He means, of course, that the seats should take, or receive us." The Zankiwank only smiled, while Mr Swinglebinks commenced counting up to a hundred, but as he lost one, he could only count up to ninety-nine--so, to keep his arithmetic going, he subtracted a time-piece from his neighbour's pocket, multiplied his foot-warmers, and divided his attention between the Wimble and the Wamble, who were both of the party, being left-handed and deaf. Maudie and Willie took their places in the car with all the other passengers amid a perfect babel of chattering and laughing and crying, and then, as the train began to slowly move out of the station, the Zankiwank solemnly sang the following serious song:-- OFF TO FABLE LAND. The midnight train departs at three, To Fable Land we go, For this express is nothing less Than a steamer, don't you know! We're sailing now upon the Thames, All in a penny boat, And we soon shall change for a mountain range, In the atmosphere to float! So off we go to Fable Land-- (Speak kindly to the guard!) Which many think a Babel-land, But this you disregard. You'll find it is a Stable-land, With stables in the yard-- A possible, probable, Able-land, So do not vex the guard! We've left behind us Charing Cross, And all the town in bed; For it is plain, though in this train, We're standing on our head! We're riding now in Bedfordshire, Which is the Land of Nod; And yet in the sky we are flying high, Which seems extremely odd! So off we go to Fable Land-- (Speak kindly to the guard!) Which many think a Babel-land, But this you disregard. You'll find it is a Stable-land, With stables in the yard-- A possible, probable, Able-land, So do not vex the guard! Maudie and Willie found themselves joining lustily in the chorus when the Zankiwank pulled the cord communicating with the guard, and, opening the window, climbed out on to the top of the carriage calling all the time:-- "Guard! Guard! Guard! Don't go so hard, Just give the brake a hitch! To Charing Cross return-- Nay, do not look so stern-- For I would not tell a cram, I must send a telegram, To my darling little Bletherwitch." So the guard turned the train round, and they went back to Charing Cross as quick as lightning. "It's my fault," moaned the Jackarandajam, "I ought to have reminded you. Never mind, we will put on another engine." So the Zankiwank got out and sent a telegram to the Bletherwitch, and desired her to follow on in a balloon.