“I wish it was your Aunt Willoughby,” said Matilda.
“Nasty spiteful little thing,” said Pridmore, and she shook Matilda.
Then Matilda tried to slap Pridmore, and the two went down the steps not at all pleased with each other.
They walked down the dull road to the dull omnibus, and Matilda was crying a little.
Now, Pridmore was a very careful person, though cross; but even the most careful persons make mistakes sometimes, and she must have taken the wrong omnibus or this story could never have happened, and where should we all have been then? This shows you that even mistakes are sometimes valuable, so do not be hard on grown-up people if they are wrong sometimes. You know, after all, it hardly ever happens.
It was a very bright green and gold omnibus, and inside the cushions were green and very soft. Matilda and her nursemaid had it all to themselves, and Matilda began to feel more comfortable, especially as she had wriggled till she had burst one of her shoulder seams and got more room for herself inside her frock.
So she said, “I’m sorry if I was cross, Priddy, dear.”
Pridmore said, “So you ought to be,” but she never said she was sorry for being cross, but you must not expect grown-up people to say that.
It was certainly the wrong omnibus—because instead of jolting slowly along dusty streets, it went quickly and smoothly down a green lane, with flowers in the hedges and green trees overhead. Matilda was so delighted that she sat quite still, a very rare thing with her. Pridmore was reading a penny story, called “The Vengeance of the Lady Constantia,” so she did not notice anything.
“I don’t care. I shan’t tell her,” said Matilda. “She’d stop the bus as likely as not.”
At last the bus stopped of its own accord. Pridmore put her story in her pocket and began to get out.
“Well, I never,” she said, and got out very quickly and ran round to where the horses were. There were four of them. They were white horses with green harness, and their tails were very long indeed.
“Hi, young man,” said Pridmore, to the omnibus driver, “you’ve brought us to the wrong place. This isn’t Streatham Common, this isn’t.”
The driver was the most beautiful omnibus driver you ever saw. And his clothes were like him in beauty. He had white silk stockings and a ruffled silk shirt of white—and his coat and breeches were green and gold, so was the three-cornered hat which he lifted very politely when Pridmore spoke to him.
“I fear,” he said, kindly, “that you must have taken, by some unfortunate misunderstanding, the wrong omnibus!”
“When does the next one go back?”
“The omnibus does not go back. It runs from Brixton here once a month, but it doesn’t go back.”
“But how does it get to Brixton again—to start again, I mean?” asked Matilda.
“We start a new one every time,” said the driver, raising his three-cornered hat once more.
“And what becomes of the old ones?” Matilda asked.
“Ah,” said the driver, smiling, “that depends. One never knows beforehand, and things change so suddenly nowadays. Good morning. Thank you so much for your patronage. No—no—on no account, madam.” He waved away the eightpence which Pridmore was trying to offer him for the fare from Brixton, and drove quickly off.
Then they looked round them. No—this was certainly not Streatham Common. The wrong omnibus had brought them to a strange village—the neatest, sweetest, reddest, greenest, cleanest, prettiest village in the world. The houses were grouped round a village green, on which children in pretty loose frocks or smocks were playing happily. Not a tight armhole was to be seen, or even imagined, in that happy spot. Matilda swelled herself out and burst three hooks and a bit more of the shoulder seams.
The shops seemed a little queer, Matilda thought. The names somehow did not match the things that were to be sold. For instance, where it said “Elias Grimes, tinsmith,” there were loaves and buns in the window; and the shop that had “Baker” over the door was full of perambulators; the grocer and the wheelwright seemed to have changed names, or shops, or something; and Miss Scrimpling, dressmaker and milliner, had her shop window full of pork and sausage meat.
“What a funny, nice place,” said Matilda. ”I am glad we took the wrong omnibus.”
A little boy in a yellow smock had come up close to them.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, very politely, “but all strangers are brought before the King at once. Please follow me.”
“Well, of all the impudence!” said Pridmore. “Strangers, indeed! And who may you be, I should like to know?”
“I,” said the little boy, bowing very low, “am the Prime Minister. I know I do not look it, but appearances are deceitful. It’s only for a short time; I shall probably be myself again by tomorrow.”
Pridmore muttered something which the little boy did not hear. Matilda caught a few words—“smacked,” “bed,” “bread and water”—familiar words, all of them.
“If it’s a game,” said Matilda to the boy, “I should like to play.”
He frowned. “I advise you to come at once,” he said, so sternly, that even Pridmore was a little frightened. “His Majesty’s palace is in this direction.” He walked away, and Matilda made a sudden jump, dragged her hand out of Pridmore’s, and ran after him. So Pridmore had to follow, still grumbling.
The palace stood in a great green park, dotted with white-flowered maybushes. It was not at all like an English palace—St. James’s or Buckingham Palace, for instance—because it was very beautiful and very clean. When they got in, they saw that the palace was hung with green silk and the footmen had green and gold liveries, and all the courtiers’ clothes were the same colors.
Matilda and Pridmore had to wait a few moments while the King changed his scepter and put on a clean crown, and then they were shown into the audience chamber. The King came to meet them.
“It is kind of you to have come so far,” he said. “Of course you’ll stay at the palace?” He looked anxiously at Matilda.
“Are you quite comfortable, my dear?” he asked, doubtfully.
Matilda was very truthful, for a girl.
“No,” she said, “my frock cuts me round the arms.”
“Ah,” said he, “and you brought no luggage. Some of the Princess’s frocks—her old ones perhaps. Yes, yes; this person—your maid, no doubt.”