Chapter XIV
WHERE IS TUBBY?
The poor Easter Chicken did not know which way to turn. He rushed to the Money-Pig and shook him violently.
The Money-Pig, who had seen everything that happened, pretended to be asleep. He was really a terrible coward.
“Leave me alone!” he grumbled. “What’s the matter?”
“Tubby!” cried the Easter Chicken. “Murrum has carried off Tubby!”
“I’ll say she deserved it!” said the Money-Pig. “I can’t do anything, can I?”
But the Easter Chicken continued to beat him with his wings, shouting: “Tubby’s gone! You must wake up! Murrum has stolen her!”
“Can’t you leave me alone?” the Money-Pig complained.
“Isn’t it enough that you must be stuffing goodness knows what all down my back all day! It isn’t money, I’m sure; I never felt so sick in my life. If Tubby’s gone, good riddance! I’m not going to worry about her. Let me sleep, for goodness’ sake. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” And he pretended to groan.
Just then the rest of the party returned from their picnic. They trooped in laughing, chattering and shouting, making such a noise that it was several minutes before the Easter Chicken could even make himself heard, though he did his best, running from one to another, flapping his wings and chirping piteously.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gladys at last. “What’s all this fuss? You should have been in bed hours ago!”
“Tubby’s gone! Tubby’s gone!” the Easter Chicken cried. And he poured out a story in which Tubby, Murrum and the Money-Pig were so mixed up that Gladys could make out nothing at all.
“Come here!” she called to the others. “What’s he fussing about, do you suppose? He’s got some silly idea in his head but I can’t understand a word of it!”
“It’s Tubby!” he sobbed.
“Well, what about Tubby?”’ asked Virginia May tartly, for she had been interrupted in a conversation with Harlequin, and Harlequin’s conversations were rare.
“Tubby has gone!” said the Easter Chicken.
“Is that all? Well, she’s gone to Tubbyland, I suppose! She’s done it dozens of times before,” said Gladys. “Nothing to get so excited about.”
For it had long been Tubby’s habit, especially when she felt herself slighted, to retire into hiding in some spot known only to herself, and from which she would reappear later, telling every one, with a most superior air, that she had just been to Tubbyland—a habit which annoyed the rest of the Toys unutterably, for they none of them really believed her.
“She’ll come back when she gets tired of it,” said Anna wisely. “Stop chattering so much. Little chickens should be seen and not heard!”
“But she hasn’t gone to Tubbyland,” the Easter Chicken insisted. I tell you she’s stolen! Murrum stole her!”
“Now you’re telling fibs!” exclaimed Virginia May severely. “You know you are always making things up. I don’t believe you.”
“He’s had a nightmare,” suggested the Lion. “Go back to bed, Chicken, and keep quiet!”
“But it’s true! It’s true! The Money-Pig saw him!”
“I didn’t!” cried the Money-Pig hastily, for he was afraid of being blamed. “I was fast asleep. He woke me up. I’m feeling very unwell!”
“Of course she’s gone to Tubbyland!” said Gladys. “She was always talking about it. Besides, no one’s seen Murrum for two days.”
But at the word “Murrum” an uncomfortable chill fell on the party. However boldly they might talk when they were together, there was not one of them would have liked to meet Murrum alone, especially at night, unless it was Poor Cecco, and Poor Cecco was away. They shifted their feet and looked at one another uneasily. If only Poor Cecco were here this question would soon be settled. Meantime, if only to try and pacify the Easter Chicken, they began to hunt about for Tubby.
They looked behind the sofa cushions, and under the sideboard, even inside the coal scuttle itself, but there was no Tubby to be seen. High and low they searched, calling her, but it was all no use. Now indeed they began to get alarmed.
“She’s doing it on purpose,” said Virginia May, trying not to feel frightened. “It’s all because we made fun of her writing letters to Bulka.”
“I wish Poor Cecco were here!” said Harlequin sadly. And Anna began to snivel. “Things always seem to go wrong when Poor Cecco’s away!”
No use wishing for Poor Cecco! They must do their best without him. All the rest of that night, led by Harlequin and the Lion, they hunted and called. They even turned back the carpet and poked out the cracks in the kitchen floor with hairpins. There was no trace of Tubby anywhere, except a few torn scraps of paper behind the coal scuttle.
It was a very dejected party that gathered in the toy-cupboard next morning. Never before had Tubby remained hidden so long. And though Gladys and Anna still maintained she had only gone to Tubbyland, the rest of them began to feel certain by now that something had happened. As for the Easter Chicken, he had sobbed himself to sleep long ago.
The toys woke him up, for they felt that some one had to be blamed for the whole affair.
“Why didn’t you stop Murrum?” they scolded. “You ought to have called us. You should have told some one!”
“I told the Money-Pig!”
“You didn’t!” the Money-Pig shouted, and immediately closed his eyes again and groaned.
Certainly something had given him indigestion. But the other toys were too worried to pay any attention to his troubles.
“You’ll catch it when Poor Cecco comes back!” said Harlequin darkly. And the Engine and Anna and the dolls all cried: “Yes, it’s all your fault!”
That didn’t frighten the Easter Chicken. All he cared about was rescuing Tubby, but the only thing he could do was to hop up and down and flap his wings.
“Didn’t you even see which way he went?” the Lion asked.
“He went through the kitchen window. The Money-Pig saw him.”
“If you say that again,” bellowed the Money-Pig, “I shall certainly beat you! Some one give me a penny; I am going to be ill!”
“It’s all the Easter Chicken’s fault!” they shouted in chorus.
In the very midst of this confusion, there was heard the shrill toot of a horn, and a loud ring at the door-bell. Some one must be arriving in style! And while they wondered, the toy-cupboard door was flung open, and in strode Poor Cecco himself, together with Bulka and a strange little person with painted boots and no frock on, whom they had never seen before. She looked very shy, and was carrying a bundle in her hand.
“Hello!” cried Poor Cecco. “How is everybody? Hello, Harlequin! Hello, Lion! Hello, Anna! This is Jensina. We’ve been all over the world and now we’re back again!” And he began kissing them all round.
“And I’ve brought some beads for Tubby!” Bulka cried, holding up his necklace for every one to see. “Nobody touch them! Where is Tubby?”
All the toys were silent; no one wanted to speak first. Only the Money-Pig was heard to snore loudly.
“Where is Tubby?” Bulka repeated. “I want to see Tubby! Why isn’t Tubby here?”
And Poor Cecco, looking about him, asked with a suden sternness: “Where is Tubby?”
The toys looked uneasily one at another, shuffling their feet, and suddenly they all burst into tears.
