It was not surprising that the big bed should be different from any other bed the children had ever played in, yet it was certainly taking them a long, long time to crawl to the foot!

"It must have a foot," thought the brave captain of the band, as he plunged farther and farther into the depths of the white cave. "All beds have." Then he stopped suddenly as a loud squeal of mingled surprise and terror came from just behind him.

"Oh, Rudolf," Ann cried, "I don't want to play this game any longer—let's go back!" In the half-darkness Rudolf felt her turn round on Peter, who was close behind her. "Go back, Peter," she ordered.

"I can't," came a little voice out of the gloom.

"You must—oh, Peter, hurry!"

"I can't go back," said Peter calmly, "because there isn't any back. Put your hand behind me and feel."

It was true. Just how or when it had happened none of them could tell, but the soft drooping bedcovers had suddenly, mysteriously risen and spread into firm white walls behind and on either side, leaving only a narrow passageway open in front. It was nonsense to go on their hands and knees any longer, for even Rudolf, who was tallest, could not touch the arched white roof when he stood up and stretched his arm above his head. He could not see Ann's face clearly, but he could hear her beginning to sniff.

"Now, Ann," said he sternly, though in rather a weak voice, "don't you know what this is? This is an adventure."

"I don't care," sniffed Ann, "I don't want an adventure. I want to go back—back to Aunt Jane!" And the sniff developed into a flood of tears.

"Peter is not crying, and he is only six."

This rebuke told on Ann, for she was almost eight. "But what are we go—going to do?" she asked, her sobs decreasing into sniffs again.

"We'll just have to go on, I suppose, and see what happens."

"Well, I think—I think Aunt Jane ought to be ashamed of herself to put us in such a big bed we could get lost in it!"

"Maybe"—came the voice of Peter cheerfully from behind them—"maybe she wanted to lose us, like bad people does kittens."

"Peter, don't be silly," ordered Rudolf sternly. "There isn't really anything that can happen to us," he went on, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, "because we all know that we really are in bed. We know we didn't get out, so of course we must be in."

This was good sense, yet somehow it was not so comforting as it ought to have been, not even to Rudolf himself who now began to be troubled by a disagreeable kind of lump in his throat. Luckily he remembered, in time to save himself from the disgrace of tears, how his father had once told him that whistling was an excellent remedy for boys who did not feel quite happy in their minds. He began to whistle now, a poor, weak, little whistle at first, but growing stronger as he began to feel more cheerful. Grasping his sword, he started ahead, calling to the others to follow him.

The white passage was so narrow that the children had to walk along it one behind another in Indian file. The floor was no longer soft and yielding but firm and hard under their feet, and by stretching out their hands they could almost touch the smooth white walls on either side of them. At first the way was perfectly straight ahead, but after they had walked what seemed to them a long, long time, the passage curved sharply and widened a little. The children noticed, much to their relief, that it was growing lighter around them.

"I'm getting tired," Ann announced at last. "See, Ruddy, there is a nice flat black rock. Let's sit down and rest on it."

There was room for them all on the large flat rock, and when they were settled on it, Peter remarked: "I'm hungry!" Now this was a thing Peter was used to saying at all times and on all occasions, so it was just like him to bring it out now as cheerfully and confidently as if Betsy had been at his elbow with a plate of bread and butter.

"Oh, dear," Ann exclaimed, "what a long, long while it seems since we had our tea! I suppose it will soon be time to think about starving." And she took her little handkerchief out of the pocket of her nighty and began to wipe her eyes with it.

"Not yet," said Rudolf hastily. "I put some candy into my pajamas pocket when I went to bed, because the time I like to eat it best is just before breakfast—if people only wouldn't row so about my doing it. Let me see—it was two chocolate mice I had—I hope they didn't get squashed when we were playing! No, here they are." The chocolate mice were a little the worse for wear, in fact there were white streaks on them where the chocolate had rubbed off on the inside of Rudolf's pocket, but the children didn't mind that. They thought they had never seen anything that looked more delicious.

"I will cut them in three pieces with my sword," said Rudolf. "You may have the heads, Ann, and me the middle parts, and Peter the tails because he is the youngest."

This arrangement did not suit Peter. "I will not eat the tails," he screamed, kicking his heels angrily against the rock,—"the tails is made out of nassy old string!" And, I am sorry to say, Peter made a snatch at both chocolate mice and knocked them out of Rudolf's hand. This, of course, made it necessary for Rudolf to box Peter's ears, and a tussle quickly followed, in the middle of which something dreadful happened. The large flat rock they were sitting on gave several queer shakes and heaves and then suddenly rose right up under the three children and threw them head over heels into the air. They were not a bit hurt, but they were very, very much surprised when they scrambled to their feet and saw the rock erect on a long kind of tail it had, glaring at them out of one red angry eye.

Ann was the first to recognize it. "Oh, oh," she cried, "it's not a rock at all—it's Betsy's Warming-pan!"

The Pan, giving a deep throaty kind of growl, began to shuffle toward them. "I'd like to have the warming of you three," he snarled. "I'll teach you to come sitting on top of me playing your tricks on my rheumatic bones—waking me out of the first good nap I've had in weeks!--I'll fix you—"

"We're really very sorry," Ann began. "We didn't mean to sit on you, we thought—"

But the Warming-pan did not want to hear what Ann thought. He turned round on her fiercely. "You're the young person," he snapped, "who made the polite remarks about my figure this evening? Eh, didn't you? Can you deny it? Called me old-fashioned and 'country'—said nobody ever used me any more!--I'll teach you to talk about hot-water bottles when I'm through with you!" As he spoke he came closer and closer to Ann, snorting and puffing and glaring at her out of his one terrible eye. Although he was so round and waddled so clumsily, dragging his long tail behind him, his appearance was quite dreadful. He reminded Rudolf of the dragon in Peter's picture-book, and he hastily tried to imagine how Saint George must have felt when defending his princess. Clutching his sword, he thrust himself in front of Ann and bravely faced the Warming-pan. "Run!" he called to the others, "Fly!--and I will fight this monster to the death."

Ann, dragging Peter by the hand, made off as fast as she could go, and the Pan tried his best to dodge Rudolf and rush after her. Again and again Rudolf's sword struck him, but it only rattled on his brassiness, and making a horrible face, he popped three live coals out of his mouth which rolled on the ground unpleasantly close to Rudolf's bare toes. Then they had it hot and heavy until at last the knight managed to get his blade entangled with the dragon's long tail, and tripped the creature up. Then, without waiting for his enemy to get himself together again and heartily tired of playing Saint George, Rudolf turned and ran after Ann and Peter. Long before he caught up to them, however, he heard the Pan behind him, snorting and scolding. Luckily it did not seem able to stop talking, so that it lost what little breath it had and was soon obliged to halt. For some time Rudolf caught snatches of its unpleasant remarks, such as—"Children nowadays—wish he had 'em—he'd show 'em—bread and water—good thick stick!--" Rudolf was obliged to run with his fingers in his ears before that disagreeable voice died away in the distance.

At last he saw Peter and Ann waiting for him at a turn in the passage just ahead, and in another moment he flung himself panting on the ground beside them. "What a beast he was!" Rudolf exclaimed.

"Dreadful!" said Ann. "I shall tell Aunt Jane never, never to let Betsy put him in our bed again." And then, after she had thanked Rudolf very prettily for saving her life, and that hero had recovered his breath and rested a little after the excitement of the battle, they all felt ready to start on their way again.

No sooner had they turned the corner ahead of them than they found themselves in broad daylight. The passage was now so wide that all three could walk abreast, holding hands; a moment more and they stood at the mouth of the long white cave or tunnel they had been walking through. There was open country beyond them, and just opposite to where the children stood was the queerest little house that they had ever seen. It was long and very low, hardly more than one story high, and was painted blue and white in stripes running lengthwise. In the middle was a little front door with a window on either side of it and three square blue and white striped steps leading up to it. From the chimney a trail of thick white smoke poured out. As the three children stood staring at the house, Peter cried out: "It's snowing!"

Sure enough the air was full of thick white flakes.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" Ann wailed, "what shall we do now? We can't go back in the cave because the Warming-pan might catch us, and if we stay here Peter will catch his death of cold out in the snow in his night drawers—and so will we all. Oh, what would mother say!"

"But we are not out in the snow, Ann," began Rudolf in his arguing voice. "We are in in the snow."

"And it is not wet," added Peter who was trying to roll a snowball out of the white flakes that were piling themselves on the ground with amazing quickness.

"I don't care," said Ann. "I know mother wouldn't like us to be in in it or out in it. I'm going to knock at the door of that house this minute and ask if they won't let us stay there till the storm's over."

"All right," said Rudolf, "only I hope the people who live there don't happen to be any relation of the Warming-pan."

It was a dreadful thought. The three children looked at the house and hesitated. Then Rudolf laughed, drew his precious sword, which he had fastened into the belt of his pajamas, and mounted the steps, the others following behind him.

"You be all ready to run," he whispered, "if you don't like the looks of the person who comes. Now!" And he knocked long and loud upon the blue and white striped door.