LITMIR.BIZ

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as Lucy sat at the door of the hut and watched the people in these four colours going lazily about among the ruins she suddenly knew what they were, and she exclaimed:

      “I know what you are; you’re Halma men.”

      Instantly every man within earshot made haste to get away, and the women whispered, “Hush! It is death to breathe that name.”

      “But why?” Lucy asked.

      “Halma was the great captain of our race,” said the woman, “and the Great Sloth fears that if we hear his name it will rouse us and we shall break from bondage and become once more a free people.”

      Lucy determined that they should hear that name pretty often; but before she could speak it again the woman sighed, and remarking “The Great Sloth sleeps,” fell asleep then and there over the pine-apple she was peeling. A vast silence settled on the city, and next moment Lucy also slept. She slept for hours.

      * * * *

      It took her some time to find the keeper of the padlock key, and when she had found him he refused to use it. Nothing would move him, not even the threat of the fierceness of Brenda.

      At last, almost in despair, Lucy suddenly remembered a word of power.

      “I command you to open the well and let down the bucket,” she said. “I command you by the great name of Halma.”

      “It is death to speak that name,” said the keeper of the key, looking over his shoulder anxiously.

      “It is life to speak that name,” said Lucy. “Halma! Halma! Halma! If you don’t open that well I’ll carve the name on a pine-apple and send it in on the golden tray with the Great Sloth’s dinner.”

      “It would have the lives of hundreds for that,” said the keeper in horror.

      “Open the well then,” said Lucy.

      * * * *

      They all held a council as soon as Philip and Max had been safely drawn up in the bucket, and Lucy told them all she knew.

      “I think whatever we do we ought to be quick,” said Lucy; “that Great Sloth is dangerous. I’m sure it is. It’s sent already to say I am to be brought to its presence to sing songs to it while it goes to sleep. It doesn’t mind me because it knows I’m not the Deliverer. And if you’ll let me, I believe I can work everything all right. But if it knows you’re here, it’ll be much harder.”

      The degraded Halma men were watching them from a distance, in whispering groups.

      “I shall go and sing to the Great Sloth,” she said, “and you must go about and say the name of power to every one you meet, and tell them you’re the Deliverer. Then if my idea doesn’t come off, we must overpower the Great Sloth by numbers and.… You just go about saying ‘Halma!’—see?”

      “While you do the dangerous part? Likely!” said Philip.

      “It’s not dangerous. It never hurts the people who sing—never,” said Lucy. “Now I’m going.”

      And she went before Philip could stop her.

      “Let her go,” said the parrot; “she is a wise child.”

      The temple of the Great Sloth was built of solid gold. It had beautiful pillars and doorways and windows and courts, one inside the other, each paved with gold flagstones. And in the very middle of everything was a large room which was entirely feather-bed. There the Great Sloth passed its useless life in eating, sleeping and listening to music.

      Outside the moorish arch that led to this inner room Lucy stopped and began to sing. She had a clear little voice and she sang “Jockey to the Fair,” and “Early one morning,” and then she stopped.

      And a great sleepy slobbery voice came out from the room and said:

      “Your songs are in very bad taste. Do you know no sleepy songs?”

      “Your people sing you sleepy songs,” said Lucy. “What a pity they can’t sing to you all the time.”

      “You have a sympathetic nature,” said the Great Sloth, and it came out and leaned on the pillar of its door and looked at her with sleepy interest. It was enormous, as big as a young elephant, and it walked on its hind legs like a gorilla. It was very black indeed.

      “It is a pity,” it said; “but they say they cannot live without drinking, so they waste their time in drawing water from the wells.”

      “Wouldn’t it be nice,” said Lucy, “if you had a machine for drawing water. Then they could sing to you all day—if they chose.”

      “If I chose,” said the Great Sloth, yawning like a hippopotamus. “I am sleepy. Go!”

      “No,” said Lucy, and it was so long since the Great Sloth had heard that word that the shock of the sound almost killed its sleepiness.

      “What did you say?” it asked, as if it could not believe its large ears.

      “I said ‘No,’” said Lucy. “I mean that you are so great and grand you have only to wish for anything and you get it.”

      “Is that so?” said the Great Sloth dreamily and like an American.

      “Yes,” said Lucy with firmness. “You just say, ‘I wish I had a machine to draw up water for eight hours a day.’ That’s the proper length for a working day. Father says so.”

      “Say it all again, and slower,” said the creature. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

      Lucy repeated the words.

      “If that’s all.…” said the Great Sloth; “now say it again, very slowly indeed.”

      Lucy did so and the Great Sloth repeated after her:

      “I wish I had a machine to draw up water for eight hours a day.”

      “Don’t,” it said angrily, looking back over its shoulder into the feather-bedded room, “don’t, I say. Where are you shoving to? Who are you? What are you doing in my room? Come out of it.”

      Something did come out of the room, pushing the Great Sloth away from the door. And what came out was the vast feather-bed in enormous rolls and swellings and bulges. It was being pushed out by something so big and strong that it was stronger that the Great Sloth itself, and pushed that mountain of lazy sloth-flesh half across its own inner courtyard. Lucy retreated before its advancing bulk and its extreme rage.

      “Push me out of my own feather-bedroom, would it?” said the Sloth, now hardly sleepy at all. “You wait till I get hold of it, whatever it is.”

      The whole of the feather-bed was out in the courtyard now, and the Great Sloth climbed slowly back over it into its room to find out who had dared to outrage its Slothful Majesty.

      Lucy waited, breathless with hope and fear, as the Great Sloth blundered back into the inner room of its temple. It did not come out again. There was a silence, and then a creaking sound and the voice of the Great Sloth saying:

      “No, no, no, I won’t. Let go, I tell you.” Then more sounds of creaking and the sound of metal on metal.

      She crept to the arch and peeped round it.

      The room that had been full of feather-bed was now full of wheels and cogs and bands and screws and bars. It was full, in fact, of a large and complicated machine. And the handle of that machine was being turned by the Great Sloth itself.

      “Let me go,” said the Great Sloth, gnashing its great teeth. “I won’t work!”

      “You must,” said a purring voice from the heart of the machinery. “You wished for me, and now you have to work me eight hours a day. It is the law”; it was the machine itself which spoke.

      “I’ll break you,” said the Sloth.

      “I am unbreakable,”

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