It was a pineapple, fresh, ripe and juicy. On its side was carved in large letters of uncertain shape the one word “Wait.”
It was good advice and they took it. Really I do not see what else they could have done in any case. And they ate the pineapple. And presently everyone felt extremely sleepy.
“Waiting is one of those things that you can do as well asleep as awake, or even better,” said the parrot. “Forty winks will do us all the good in the world.” He put his head under his wing where he sat on the binnacle.
“May I turn in alongside you, sir?” Max asked. “I shan’t feel the dreadful loneliness so much then.”
So Philip and Max curled up together on the deck, warmly covered with the spare flags of all nations, and the forty winks lasted for the space of a good night’s rest—about ten hours, in fact. So ten hours’ waiting was got through quite easily. But there was more waiting to do after they woke up, and that was not so easy.
When Lucy, sitting in the bucket with Brenda in her lap, felt the bucket lifted from the deck and swung loose in the air, it was as much as she could do to refrain from screaming. Brenda did scream, as you know, but Lucy stifled the sound in the folds of her frock.
Lucy bit her lips, made a great effort and called out that remark about the bucket-swing, just as though she were quite comfortable. It was very brave of her and helped her to go on being brave.
The bucket drew slowly up and up and up and passed from the silver dome into the dark shaft above. Lucy looked up. Yes, it was daylight that showed at the top of the shaft, and the rope was drawing her up towards it. Suppose the rope broke? Brenda was quite quiet now. She said afterwards that she must have fainted. And now the light was nearer and nearer. Now Lucy was in it, for the bucket had been drawn right up, and hands were reached out to draw it over the side of what seemed like a well. At that moment Lucy saw in a flash what might happen if the owners of the hands, in their surprise, let go the bucket and the windlass. She caught Brenda in her hands and threw the dog out on to the dry ground, and threw herself across the well parapet. Just in time, for a shout of surprise went up and the bucket went down, clanging against the well sides. The hands had let go.
Lucy clambered over the well side slowly, and when her feet stood on firm ground she saw that the hands were winding up the bucket again, and that it came very easily.
“Oh, don’t!” she said. “Let it go right down! There are some more people down there.”
“Sorry, but it’s against the rules. The bucket only goes down this well forty times a day. And that was the fortieth time.”
They pulled the bucket in and banged down the lid of the well. Someone padlocked it and put the key in his pocket. And Lucy and he stood facing each other. He was a little round-headed man in a curious stiff red tunic, and there was something about the general shape of him and his tunic which reminded Lucy of something, only she could not remember what. Behind him stood two others, also red-tunicked and round-headed.
Brenda crouched at Lucy’s feet and whined softly, and Lucy waited for the strangers to speak.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said the red-tunicked man at last, “it was a great shock to us, your bobbing up as you did. It will keep us awake at night, just remembering it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lucy.
“You should always come into strange towns by the front gate,” said the man; “try to remember that, will you? Good night.”
“But you’re not going off like this,” said Lucy. “Let me write a note and drop it down to the others. Have you a bit of pencil, and paper?”
“No,” said the strange people, staring at her.
“Haven’t you anything I can write on?” Lucy asked them.
“There’s nothing here but pineapples,” said one of them at last.
So she cut a pineapple from among the hundreds that grew among the rocks near by, and carved “Wait” on it with her penknife.
“Now,” she said, “open that well lid.”
“It’s as much as our lives are worth,” said the leader.
“No it isn’t,” said Lucy; “there’s no law against dropping pineapples into the well. You know there isn’t. It isn’t like drawing water. And if you don’t I shall set my little dog at you. She is very fierce.”
Brenda was so flattered that she showed her teeth and growled.
“Oh, very well,” said the stranger; “anything to avoid fuss.”
When the well lid was padlocked down again, Lucy said:
“What country is this?” though she was almost sure, because of the pineapples, that it was Somnolentia. And when they had said that word she said:
“Now I’ll tell you something. The Deliverer is coming up that well next time you draw water. He is coming to deliver you from the bondage of the Great Sloth.”
“It is true,” said the red round-headed leader, “that we are in bondage. And the Great Sloth wearies us with the singing of choric songs when we long to be asleep. But none can deliver us. There is no hope. There is nothing good but sleep. And of that we have never enough.”
“Oh, dear,” said Lucy despairingly, “aren’t there any women here? They always have more sense than men.”
“What you say is rude as well as untrue,” said the red leader; “but to avoid fuss we will lead you and your fierce dog to the huts of the women. And then perhaps you will allow us to go to sleep.”
The huts were poor
