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This proposal left us cold, as Albert’s uncle says, because we knew there could not be any prize worth bothering about. And though you may be ever ready and willing to do anything for nothing, yet if there’s going to be a prize there must be a prize and there’s an end of it.

Thus the idea was not followed up. Dicky yawned and said, “Let’s go into the barn and make a fort.”

So we did, with straw. It does not hurt straw to be messed about with like it does hay.

The down-stairs–I mean down-ladder–part of the barn was fun too, especially for Pincher. There was as good ratting there as you could wish to see. Martha tried it, but she could not help running kindly beside the rat, as if she was in double harness with it. This is the noble bull-dog’s gentle and affectionate nature coming out. We all enjoyed the ratting that day, but it ended, as usual, in the girls crying because of the poor rats. Girls cannot help this; we must not be waxy with them on account of it, they have their nature, same as bull-dogs have, and it is this that makes them so useful in smoothing the pillows of the sick-bed and tending wounded heroes.

However, the forts, and Pincher, and the girls crying, and having to be thumped on the back, passed the time very agreeably till dinner. There was roast mutton with onion sauce, and a roly-poly pudding.

Albert’s uncle said we had certainly effaced ourselves effectually, which means we hadn’t bothered.

So we determined to do the same during the afternoon, for he told us his heroine was by no means out of the wood yet.

And at first it was easy. Jam roly gives you a peaceful feeling and you do not at first care if you never play any runabout game ever any more. But after a while the torpor begins to pass away. Oswald was the first to recover from his.

He had been lying on his front part in the orchard, but now he turned over on his back and kicked his legs up, and said:

“I say, look here; let’s do something.”

Daisy looked thoughtful. She was chewing the soft yellow parts of grass, but I could see she was still thinking about that animal race. So I explained to her that it would be very poor fun without a tortoise and a peacock, and she saw this, though not willingly.

It was H. O. who said:

“Doing anything with animals is prime! if they only will. Let’s have a circus!”

At the word the last thought of the pudding faded from Oswald’s memory and he stretched himself, sat up, and said:

“Bully for H. O. Let’s!”

The others also threw off the heavy weight of memory, and sat up and said “Let’s!” too.

Never, never in all our lives had we had such a gay galaxy of animals at our command. The rabbits and the guinea-pigs, and even all the bright, glass-eyed, stuffed denizens of our late-lamented Jungle, paled into insignificance before the number of live things on the farm.

(I hope you do not think that the words I use are getting too long. I know they are the right words. And Albert’s uncle says your style is always altered a bit by what you read. And I have been reading the Vicomte de Bragelonne. Nearly all my new words come out of those.)

“The worst of a circus is” Dora said, “that you’ve got to teach the animals things. A circus where the performing creatures hadn’t learned performing would be a bit silly. Let’s give up a week to teaching them and then have the circus.”

Some people have no idea of the value of time. And Dora is one of those who do not understand that when you want to do a thing you do want to, and not to do something else, and perhaps your own thing, a week later.