“The sky was lemon colored, and the trees were dark red.”

Uncle Jonah had declared he would trounce Andy if ever he found him in the orchard or the barn, but as Uncle Jonah was very rheumatic and had to hobble about his work, it seemed unlikely that he would ever catch Andy, who was as fleet as a squirrel. It was a fine game, however, to pretend that Uncle Jonah was “after them,” and so Andy and Hortense ran and hid whenever Uncle Jonah came in sight.

One afternoon they were seated in the grape arbor enjoying the early grapes, which were forbidden, when Uncle Jonah suddenly appeared. The only way to escape was through the vines and lattice, a tight squeeze, and Uncle Jonah nearly had them.

“I seed yo’,” Uncle Jonah called, “an’ I’s gwine tell yo’ Gran’pap.”

Andy and Hortense ran as if possessed. Into the barn they went and up into the haymow where they were usually safe, but as they lay panting on the hay, Uncle Jonah entered the barn, grumbling to himself.

Andy and Hortense lay as still as mice. Uncle Jonah was with the horses. They could hear the slap of his hand upon their fat backs and his, “Steady now, quit yo’ foolin’.”

“Done et all yo’ hay, have yo’? Spec’s dis po’ niggah to climb dose staihs and tho’ down some mo’? I ain’t gwine do it, no suh.”

Nevertheless, soon Andy and Hortense heard Uncle Jonah’s step on the stairs and they gazed at each other in fright.

“Where shall we hide?” Hortense gasped.

“Slide down the hay chute and into the manger,” said Andy quickly. “The horses won’t bite, and we can get away before Uncle Jonah comes down.”

In a moment they were at the chute and, holding to the edge, dropped down, Andy first and Hortense on top. Andy scrambled through the hole into the manger and Hortense after him, but the hole was small, and Hortense plump, and it was only by hard squeezing that she got through at all.

Once in the manger, it was only a moment before they were out from under the velvety noses of the horses and had slipped past them through the stall. They ran out of the barn and to the kitchen where they secured an unusually large supply of cookies; then hurried to the nook in the shrubbery beside the basement window that led to the furnace, a good place to hide.

They ate cooky for cooky until they had eaten ten apiece, when they stopped to rest a bit. Hortense was still warm and unbuttoned her collar. As she did so, she was conscious of missing something and felt again carefully.

“I’ve lost my charm,” she said hurriedly.

“Perhaps it slipped down inside,” Andy suggested.

Hortense felt of herself but could not find it.

“I must have lost it going down the hay chute,” she said. “I know I had it in the haymow. It must have come off when I squeezed through. Dear me, if I should lose it!”

“We’ll find it when Uncle Jonah goes away from the barn,” Andy consoled her.

They attacked the remaining cookies.

“I wonder how many cookies I could eat,” said Andy dreamily as they began their thirteenth.

“I’ve had most enough,” said Hortense taking another bite.

Then she began to feel very strange. Everything about her seemed to grow larger and larger, except Andy. The entrance to the basement seemed as wide as the barn door; the lilac bush over her head looked as big as an oak tree, and the piece of cooky in her hand as big as a dinner plate.

“What’s happened to us?” Andy asked.

“I believe,” said Hortense, “that we’ve grown small, or everything else big. I don’t know which.”

“How’ll we ever grow big again?” Andy asked.

“We won’t worry about that now,” said Hortense practically. “It’ll be lots of fun to be small. We can hide so nobody can find us and surprise people. I believe I could climb right into one of Highboy’s drawers, or even into the jar where Grandpa keeps his tobacco.”

“Mother’ll never be able to find me when she wants me to weed the garden,” said Andy hopefully.

Hortense’s eyes grew wide, and she looked at Andy with a great idea in her eyes.

“What is it?” Andy asked.

“Now we can go through the little door and down the shining tunnel!” said Hortense.

It was so bright an idea that they wondered they hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“But we’re so small, how’ll we ever get to the bottom of the chute? It’ll be twice as high as we are.”

Hortense hadn’t thought of this difficulty.

“We can’t go through the kitchen either, for we might be seen,” said she. “Besides, the kitchen steps would be too high for us.”

Andy was thinking.

“If we could find a long enough stick, we could carry it with us; then we could slide down it. After that it would be easy.”

So they hunted for a stick and finally found one that looked as if it would do, but it was all they could do to get it into the basement opening. Once in, however, it was easily pulled down the chute to the edge of the drop below. Andy and Hortense lowered it carefully until the end rested on the bottom.

“Hooray,” said Andy. “It’s long enough.”

And climbing onto it, he slid down and was soon out of sight.

“All right,” he shouted a moment later, “I’m down.”

Hortense then took hold, and with Andy steadying the stick at the bottom, she soon slid down and stood behind him.

Hand in hand they ran down the dark passage that led to the little door. It seemed a long way, and when they arrived, the little door seemed as big as any ordinary door. Andy pulled at the latch and swung it open, and there before them was the shining tunnel that curved out of sight. They stood a moment looking at it.

“Where do you suppose it goes?” Andy asked.

“It must go to the Little People,” said Hortense. “Nobody else could use it.”

“We’ll find out, at any rate,” said Andy, and together they ran down it.

It curved and curved and grew brighter and brighter as they ran, always a little downhill.

“I believe there’s no end to it,” said Hortense after they had gone what seemed a long way.

“There must be,” said Andy. “Why I believe this is the end, and it’s raining.”

They came into what seemed to be a large cave whose roof was high above them, and from the roof water was dripping as fast and as thick as rain. The cave was as bright as moonshine and the drops sparkled as they fell. Through the falling drops, far on the other side of the cave, they saw a bright opening like the one through which they had come.

“We must run across,” said Hortense, and hand in hand they dashed through the rain and into the little tunnel which was just like the one they had left, except that it began to slope up instead of down and soon was quite steep. As they paused for breath after climbing a long distance, Hortense, who had been thinking hard, said to Andy, “Do you know, I believe the cave with the falling water was under the brook, and now on this side we are going up the inside of the mountain.”

“Perhaps we will come out in the cave where the Little People live,” said Andy. “At least Fergus thinks they live there.”

They hurried on, hoping that Andy’s guess might be right, but when at last they reached the end of the passage and unlatched a little door exactly like that through which they had entered, they came out neither upon the mountain side nor in a cave, but in a strange country such as they had never seen before. The sky was lemon colored and the trees were dark red.

Before them, in the distance, was a little house with a steep roof and a pointed chimney. As they drew closer, they saw two windows in the end, set close together like a pair of eyes. Andy and Hortense walked slowly towards it, hand in hand. It was in a little garden surrounded by a hedge of cat-tails and hollyhocks.

“I never saw a hedge of cat-tails before,” said Andy, and indeed it looked very odd.

There was a little gate, and through it Andy and Hortense entered the garden. Nobody was to be seen nor was there any sound. Andy and Hortense, coming closer, peeked through a window. They could see a fire on the hearth and a tall clock in the corner, but no person was visible.

“Let’s go in.” said Andy, and Hortense, agreeing, followed him around the corner to a little door which was unlatched.

Nobody was in the room, which had three chairs, a table, the clock which they had seen through the window, and in the corner a great jar, taller than they were, with Cookies printed in large letters on the outside.

“Dear me, what a large cooky jar,” said Hortense. “I’d like to look in.”

But Andy could not reach the top to remove the cover, try as he would. He stood on a chair to do so and though he could now reach the cover, it was too heavy for him to budge.

Hortense, meanwhile, was looking about her to see what she could see, and as she did so her eyes fell on something familiar. In a glass case on the mantel was the monkey charm which she had lost in the barn. Hortense examined it closely to be sure that it was the same. Yes, there was the very link in the chain which she had noticed before because it was more tarnished than the others and there was a broken link. She must have caught it as she slipped through the hay chute into the manger.

Hortense tried to reach the glass case but could not. She stood on a chair, but there was no apparent way of removing the glass. Tug as she and Andy might, the glass would not move.

“We might break the glass,” Andy suggested.

“You cannot break it,” said the old Clock suddenly.

“Why, it’s exactly like our clock at home!” said Hortense. “I believe it’s the same one. However could it have gotten here?”

“Time is the same here and everywhere, now and forever,” said the Clock. “You cannot get away from time.”

“Time isn’t the same,” said Hortense. “There are slow times and times when everything goes fast.”

“It’s only because you think so,” said the Clock. “I go precisely the same at all times.”

“When I’m asleep, where does time go?” Hortense asked. “The night goes in no time.”

“Of course, in no time things are different,” said the Clock. “I was speaking of time, not of no time.”

Hortense puzzled over this, for it didn’t seem right somehow.

“Well, no matter about that,” said Hortense. “Tell us whose house this is that’s the important thing just now.”

“Couldn’t you tell whose house it is by looking at it?” asked the Clock. “I should think anybody could.”

“It looks like something I’ve seen before,” said Hortense, “but I can’t remember what.”

Then suddenly she did remember.

“It’s the Cat’s house!” said she. “And it has my charm!”

“Just so,” said the Clock. “If I were you, I’d go away at once.”

It seemed excellent advice, and Andy and Hortense turned to obey, but as they did so, in walked Jeremiah, a Jeremiah that seemed as big as a lion.

“Well, well,” said Jeremiah in a purring voice, “if this isn’t Andy and Hortense. I didn’t think I’d find you here. How small you’ve grown!”

“I didn’t look to find you here,” said Hortense severely, “You should be at home where you belong.”

But Jeremiah only smiled at this and yawned, showing his great sharp teeth. Then he stretched and sharpened his claws on the floor. His claws tore up great splinters with a noise like that of a sawmill, and Andy and Hortense were very much frightened.

“Let us past,” Hortense said in a brave voice which trembled a little.

Jeremiah only blinked his great green eyes and smiled a little, very unpleasantly.

Hortense and Andy looked at the windows, but these were fastened tight, and Jeremiah, besides, was looking at them from his lazy green eyes.

“Don’t go just yet,” Jeremiah purred in a voice that shook the house. “It wouldn’t be polite to hurry away. Besides, my friend Grater would be disappointed.”

Andy and Hortense, being now but ten or twelve inches tall, had even less wish to see Grater than formerly. Hortense was aware of a sinking feeling in her stomach.

The door flew open and in walked Grater, and very large and rough he looked. Where Malay Kris had run him through, he wore a large patch of pink court-plaster. His eyes fell upon Andy and Hortense and a wide and wicked smile appeared upon his unhandsome countenance.

“Well, well,” said Grater in his rough voice, “if here aren’t our little friends. We must urge them to stay with us. Jeremiah, put these nice plump children in the cooky jar for future use.”

With two steps Grater was across the room, and he removed the cover of the jar.

“In with them, Jeremiah,” said Grater, and Jeremiah, rising lazily, took first Andy and then Hortense by the collar and dropped them into the jar. The top came down with a clatter, and Hortense and Andy were in the dark.

The jar was empty and the sides were smooth as glass.

“Stand on my back,” said Andy, “and see if you can reach the cover.”

Though Hortense could just reach it, it was far too heavy for her to move.

“It wouldn’t be of any use,” said Hortense. “They’d catch us again even if we did get out.”

So they sat quiet for a long time. Hortense felt like crying, but managed not to. After a time she became hungry and put her hand in her pocket. There was a large piece of cooky which she had put there when she began to grow small and had completely forgotten.

“I have a piece of cooky,” said she, breaking it in two and giving Andy half.

“If we eat any more, we may grow still smaller,” said Andy.

“I don’t care, I’m hungry,” said Hortense. “Besides, if we grow very small perhaps the Cat won’t see us when he looks into the jar or we’ll be too small to eat, at any rate.”

It seemed a slim chance, but Hortense took a bite of cooky and waited to see what would happen.

“I’m not growing smaller,” said she. “I do believe I’m growing bigger!”

She stood up quickly.

“I can reach the top,” said she.

Andy stood up, too.

“I’m still growing,” said Hortense. “Quick. We must get out before the jar is too small for us, or we’ll be squeezed in and can’t get out.”

Together they pushed as hard as they could. The top of the jar fell off with a loud crash and Andy and Hortense scrambled over the edge, just in time, for they were growing bigger very fast.

The room was empty and dark except for the fire on the hearth.

“Hello,” said the Clock, “is it you again? Better run while you have a chance!”

Andy and Hortense obeyed without a word, and hand in hand they ran through the door, into the garden, and out of the gate.

“We can’t go back the way we came,” said Hortense, panting, after they had run a long distance. “We’re too big now.”

“There must be another way out,” said Andy.

So they ran on and on, through the trees.

“What a funny light it is,” said Hortense, stopping at last and looking up. “I do believe the moon is blue here.”

So it was a blue moon in a lemon colored sky.

“I’ve heard of blue moons,” said Hortense. “They must be very rare.”

“They’re rather nice,” said Andy, “but I suppose we’d better not linger.”

“Here’s a path,” said Hortense.

They ran along the path, which grew darker and darker, until they came to a gate on which was a sign printed in large letters. By peering close, Andy and Hortense could just make out the words:

PRIVATE PROPERTY
NO TRESPASSING

“We have to go through, whosesoever it is,” said Hortense, determinedly, and unlatching the gate through they went.

The path grew darker and smaller, walled on each side by rock. Soon they had to crawl on their hands and knees.

“I don’t believe we can get out this way,” Hortense said at last.

“Yes, we can,” said Andy, who was in front. “I see light ahead.”

Sure enough, out they soon came into yellow moonlight, such as they had always known. They were upon a large flat rock. Below them was a steep tree-covered slope, and at the bottom lights twinkled.

“It’s the side of the mountain,” said Hortense, “and that’s the house way down there. How’ll we ever get there?”

“We’ll have to go down the mountain side,” said Andy. “Do you know,” he added, “I believe this is the very spot which Fergus pointed out to us? Maybe the Little People come here. Shall we hide and see?”

“Let’s,” agreed Hortense.

They hid in the shadow of a tree by the edge of the rock and waited, not making a sound.

The moon rose higher over the mountain until the rock was almost as light as day, but still no one appeared.

“Let’s go home,” said Hortense at last in a sleepy voice.

But Andy, who was listening with alert ears, whispered.

“Hush, I hear something.”

Hortense, too, listened and at last heard a faint sweet sound from within the mountain. Nearer and nearer it came, to the very mouth of the cave. Then appeared a band of Little People in green coats and red caps, each with a white feather at the side.

They marched slowly, a band of musicians at the head playing upon tiny instruments which made high, sweet music no louder than the shrilling of gnats. Following the musicians came the King and Queen with little gold crowns on their heads and wearing robes with trains borne by pages. Then came eight stout fellows carrying two golden thrones which they placed on a little eminence.

The King and Queen seated themselves, and the fairy band, after marching once around the rock, formed in a hollow circle. The King clapped his hands and rose, whereupon the musicians ceased playing, and there was complete silence. The King was taller than the others by half a head; his beard was long and tawny, and his presence royal. Said the King:

“The moon is high and the night still. It is a fitting time and place for our revels. Let the musicians play.”

The musicians struck up a slow stately dance, and the King, taking the Queen by the hand, advanced to the middle of the circle and with her stepped a minuet. When the music ceased, all the Little People clapped their hands in applause, and the King and Queen reseated themselves, smiling graciously.

“The rabbit-step,” commanded the King, and immediately the musicians began so lively a tune that Andy and Hortense found it difficult not to join in, which would have spoiled everything. At once, all the Little People began to skip like rabbits, in the moonlight. Around and around they went, dancing like mad, and Hortense and Andy grew dizzy watching them.

Again the music changed, and the Little People danced a square dance, after which they formed in rings within rings and whirled around faster and faster until they seemed only rollicking circles of green in which not one face could be distinguished from another.

A shadow as of a cloud fell upon the dancing Little People, and Hortense, looking up, saw what seemed to be a dark spot on the moon. Larger and larger it grew until she could distinguish it to be a pair of horses ridden by figures only too familiar.

“It’s Jeremiah and Grater!” she whispered to Andy.

The fairy King had also seen. Suddenly he clapped his hands and the music and dancing ceased.

“Away!” the King shouted, and in a twinkling not a fairy was to be seen. The shadow grew larger and larger until it wholly obscured the moon. Then in a twinkling the horses came to earth and stood panting, with drooping heads.

“Why, it’s Tom and Jerry!” said Hortense to herself, being careful not to make a sound.

Jeremiah and Grater dismounted.

“Well,” said Jeremiah lazily, “I was sure we’d never catch them this way. You’ll have to lie in wait and pounce on them.”

“You and your mousing tricks!” said Grater contemptuously.

But Jeremiah only yawned.

“There’s a cooky jar at home with something in it,” he reminded Grater. “Let’s go.”

With a bound Jeremiah and Grater mounted their weary steeds, and in a moment they were out of sight over the tree tops.

“Did you ever!” exclaimed Hortense.

“I think we’d better go home,” Andy suggested.

Accordingly, they struck down the steep mountain side and soon were at the foot, where ran the brook.

“We’ll have to wade,” said Andy.

They plunged in and across, and with wet shoes and stockings, ran across the pasture, through the orchard to the house.

“It’s late. Whatever will they think!” said Hortense.

“I’m going straight to bed without being seen,” said Andy.

It seemed the only thing to do, so Hortense stole quietly in and up the dark stairs to her room.

“Where have you been?” Highboy demanded when she had shut the door. “You’ve been looked for everywhere.”

Hortense was too sleepy to reply, and in the morning no one questioned her, for Uncle Jonah had a sorry tale to tell of the horses, who lay in their stalls too tired to move, their manes and tails in elflocks, and their flanks mud stained.

“Dey’s hoodooed,” said Uncle Jonah, shaking his head.

To this, Grandfather made no answer but looked puzzled, and Hortense, who could have told him how it all happened, didn’t know how to begin; so said nothing.