“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 featherbedded 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 featherbed 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 featherbedroom, 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 featherbed 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 featherbed 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,” said the machine with gentle pride.
“This is your doing,” said the Sloth, turning its furious eyes on Lucy in the doorway. “You wait till I catch you!” And all the while it had to go on turning that handle.
“Thank you,” said Lucy politely; “I think I will not wait. And I shall have eight hours’ start,” she added.
Even as she spoke a stream of clear water began to run from the pumping machine. It slid down the gold steps and across the golden court. Lucy ran out into the ruined square of the city shouting:
“Halma! Halma! Halma! To me, Halma’s men!”
And the men, already excited by Philip, who had gone about saying that name of power without a moment’s pause all the time Lucy had been in the golden temple, gathered round her in a crowd.
“Quick!” she said; “the Great Sloth is pumping water up for you. He will pump for eight hours a day. Quick! dig a channel for the water to run in. The Deliverer,” she pointed to Philip, “has given you back your river.”
Some ran to look out old rusty half-forgotten spades and picks. But others hesitated and said:
“The Great Sloth will work for eight hours, and then it will be free to work vengeance on us.”
“I will go back,” said Lucy, “and explain to it that if it does not behave nicely you will all wish for machine guns, and it knows now that if people wish for machinery they have to use it. It will be awake now for eight hours and if you all work for eight hours a day you’ll soon have your city as fine as ever. And there’s one new law. Every time the clock strikes you must all say ‘Halma!’ aloud, every one of you, to remind yourselves of your great destiny, and that you are no longer slaves of the Great Sloth.”
She went back and explained machine guns very carefully to the now hardworking Sloth. When she came back all the men were at work digging a channel for the new river.
The women and children crowded round Lucy and Philip.
“Ah!” said the oldest woman of all, “now we shall be able to wash in water. I’ve heard my grandmother say water was very pleasant to wash in. I never thought I should live to wash in water myself.”
“Why?” Lucy asked. “What do you wash in?”
“Pineapple juice,” said a dozen voices, “when we do wash!”
“But that must be very sticky,” said Lucy.
“It is,” said the oldest woman of all; “very!”
XI
The Night Attack
The Halma men were not naturally lazy. They were, in the days before the coming of the Great Sloth, a most energetic and industrious people. Now that the Sloth was obliged to work eight hours a day, the weight of its constant and catching sleepiness was taken away, and the people set to work in good earnest. (I did explain, didn’t I, that the Great Sloth’s sleepiness really was catching, like measles?)
So now the Halma men were as busy as ants. Some dug the channel for the new stream, some set to work to restore the buildings, while others weeded the overgrown gardens and ploughed the deserted fields. The head Halma man painted in large letters on a column in the marketplace these words:
“This city is now called by its ancient name of Briskford. Any citizen found calling it Somnolentia will not be allowed to wash in water for a week.”
The headman was full of schemes, the least of which was the lighting of the town by electricity, the power to be supplied by the Great Sloth.
“He can’t go on pumping eight hours a day,” said the headman; “I can easily adjust the machine
