Chapter 13
Once inside, Tom met a white marble lady, sitting on a white marble throne. And from the foot of the throne there swam away, out and out into the sea, millions of new-born creatures, of more shapes and colours than man ever dreamed. And they were Mother Carey’s children, whom she makes out of the sea-water all day long.
He expected of course—like some grown people who ought to know better—to find her snipping, piecing, fitting, stitching, cobbling, basting, filing, planing, hammering, turning, polishing, moulding, measuring, chiselling, clipping, and so forth, as men do when they go to work to make anything.
But, instead of that, she sat quite still with her chin upon her hand, looking down into the sea with two great grand blue eyes, as blue as the sea itself. Her hair was as white as the snow—for she was very very old-in fact, as old as anything which you are likely to come across. And, when she saw Tom, she looked at him very kindly.
“What do you want, my little man? It is long since I have seen a water-baby here.”
Tom told her his errand, and asked the way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere.
“You ought to know yourself, for you have been there already.”
“Have I, ma’am? I’m sure I forget all about it.”
“Then look at me.”
As Tom looked into her great blue eyes, he recollected the way perfectly.
“Now, was not that strange?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Tom, “Then I won’t trouble your ladyship any more; I hear you are very busy.”
“I am never more busy than I am now,” she said, without stirring a finger.
“I heard, ma’am, that you were always making new beasts out of old.”
“So people fancy. But I am not going to trouble myself to make things, my little dear. I sit here and make them make themselves.”
“You are a clever fairy, indeed,” thought Tom. And he was quite right.
“And now, my pretty little man,” said Mother Carey, “you are sure you know the way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere.”
Tom thought and saw that he had forgotten it utterly.
“That is because you took your eyes off me.”
Tom looked at her again, and recollected. Then he looked away, and forgot in an instant.
“But what am I to do, ma’am? I can’t keep looking at you when I am somewhere else.”
“You must do without me, as most people have to do. Look at the dog instead; for he knows the way well enough, and will not forget it. Besides, you may meet some very queer-tempered people there, who will not let you pass without this passport of mine, which you must hang round your neck and take care of. Of course, as the dog will always go behind you, you must go the whole way backward.”
“Backward!” cried Tom, “Then I shall not be able to see my way.”
“On the contrary, if you look forward, you will not see a step before you, and be certain to go wrong. But, if you look behind you, and watch carefully whatever you have passed, and especially keep your eye on the dog, who goes by instinct, and therefore can’t go wrong, then you will know what is coming next, as plainly as if you saw it in a looking-glass.”
Tom was very much astonished. But he obeyed her, for he had learnt always to believe what the fairies told him.
He was very sorely tried. Though, by keeping the dog to heels (or rather to toes, for he had to walk backward), he could see pretty well which way the dog was hunting, yet it was much slower work to go backwards than to go forwards. But, what was more trying still, no sooner had he got out of Peacepool, than there came running to him all the conjurers, fortune-tellers, astrologers, prophesiers, as many as were in those parts, all bawling and screaming at him, “Look ahead, only look ahead; and we will show you what man never saw before, and right away to the end of the world!”
But I am proud to say that Tom was such a little dogged, hard English boy, that he never turned his head round once all the way from Peacepool to the Other-end-of-Nowhere. But kept his eye on the dog, and let him pick out the scent, hot or cold, straight or crooked, wet or dry, up hill or down dale. By any means he never made a single mistake, and saw all the wonderful things.
