‘She never really gets her feet wet. She prefers patting lions on the beach, and sitting on a penny with an eelfork in her hand—and in any case there is more to manage in the sea than waves. Now they have got Artaxerxes, and I hope he will be of use. He’ll spend the first few years trying to grow plums on polyps, I expect, if they let him; and that’ll be easier than keeping the merfolk in order.
‘Well, well, well! Where was I? Of course—you can go back now, if you want to. In fact, not to be too polite, it’s time you went back as soon as possible. Old Samathos is your first call—and don’t follow my bad example and forget your Ps when you meet!’
Mew turned up again the very next day, with an extra post—an immense number of letters for the Man-in-the-Moon, and bundles of newspapers: The Illustrated Weekly Weed, Ocean Notions, The Mer-mail, The Conch, and The Morning Splash. They all had exactly the same (exclusive) pictures of Artaxerxes’ wedding on the beach at full moon, with Mr Psamathos Psamathides, the wellknown financier (a mere title of respect), grinning in the background. But they were nicer than our pictures, for they were at least coloured; and the mermaid really did look beautiful (her tail was in the foam).
The time had come to say good-bye. The Man-in-the-Moon beamed on Roverandom; and the moon-dog tried to look unconcerned. Roverandom himself had rather a drooping tail, but all he said was: ‘Good-bye, pup! Take care of yourself, don’t worry the moonbeams, don’t kill the white rabbits, and don’t eat too much supper!’
‘Pup yourself!’ said the moon-Rover. ‘And stop eating wizards’ trousers!’ That was all; and yet, I believe, he was always worrying the old Man-in-the-Moon to send him on a holiday to visit Roverandom, and that he has been allowed to go several times since then.
After that Roverandom went back with Mew, and the Man went back into his cellars, and the moon-dog sat on the roof and watched them out of sight.
There was a cold wind blowing off the North Star when they got near the world’s edge, and the chilly spray of the waterfalls splashed over them. It had been stiffer going on the way back, for old Psamathos’ magic was not in such a hurry just then; and they were glad to rest on the Isle of Dogs. But as Roverandom was still his enchanted size, he did not enjoy himself much there. The other dogs were too large and noisy, and too scornful; and the bones of the bone-trees were too large and bony.
It was dawn of the day after the day after tomorrow when at last they sighted the black cliffs of Mew’s home; and the sun was warm on their backs, and the tips of the sand-hillocks were already pale and dry, by the time they alighted in the cove of Psamathos.
Mew gave a little cry, and tapped with his beak on a bit of wood lying on the ground. The bit of wood immediately grew straight up into the air, and turned into Psamathos’ left ear, and was joined by another ear, and quickly followed by the rest of the sorcerer’s ugly head and neck.
‘What do you two want at this time of day?’ growled Psamathos. ‘It’s my favourite time for sleep.’
‘We’re back!’ said the seagull.
‘And you’ve allowed yourself to be carried back on his back, I see,’ Psamathos said, turning to the little dog.
‘After dragon-hunting I should have thought you would have found a little flight back home quite easy.’
‘But please, sir,’ said Roverandom, ‘I left my wings behind; they didn’t really belong to me. And I should rather like to be an ordinary dog again.’
‘O! all right. Still I hope you have enjoyed yourself as “Roverandom”. You ought to have done. Now you can be just Rover again, if you really want to be; and you can go home and play with your yellow ball, and sleep on armchairs when you get the chance, and sit on laps, and be a respectable little yap-dog again.’
‘What about the little boy?’ said Rover.
‘But you ran away from him, silly, all the way to the moon, I thought!’ said Psamathos, pretending to be annoyed and surprised, but giving a merry twinkle out of one knowing eye. ‘Home I said, and home I meant. Don’t splutter and argue!’
Poor Rover was spluttering because he was trying to get in a very polite ‘Mr P-samathos’. Eventually he did.
‘P-P-Please, Mr P-P-P-samathos,’ he said, most touchingly. ‘P-Please p-pardon me, but I have met him again; and I shouldn’t run away now; and really I belong to him, don’t I? So I ought to go back to him.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! Of course you don’t and oughtn’t! You belong to the old lady that bought you first, and back you’ll have to go to her. You can’t buy stolen goods, or bewitched ones either, as you would know, if you knew the Law, you silly little dog. Little boy Two’s mother wasted sixpence on you, and that’s an end of it. And what’s in dream-meetings anyway?’ wound up Psamathos with a huge wink.
‘I thought some of the Man-in-the-Moon’s dreams came true,’ said little Rover sadly.
‘O! did you! Well that’s the Man-in-the-Moon’s affair. My business is to change you back at once into your proper size, and send you back where you belong. Artaxerxes has departed to other spheres of usefulness, so we needn’t bother about him any more. Come here!’
He took hold of Rover, and he waved his fat hand over the little dog’s head, and hey presto—there was no change at all! He did it all over again, and still there was no change.
Then Psamathos got right up out of the sand, and Rover saw for the first time that he had legs like a rabbit. He stamped and ramped, and kicked sand into the air, and trampled on the seashells, and snorted like an angry pugdog; and still nothing happened at all!
‘Done by a seaweed wizard, blister and wart him!’ he swore. ‘Done by a Persian plum-picker, pot and jam him!’ he shouted, and kept on shouting till he was tired. Then he sat down.
‘Well, well!’ he said at last when he was cooler. ‘Live and learn! But Artaxerxes is most peculiar. Who could have guessed that he would remember you amidst all the excitement of his wedding, and go and waste his strongest incantation on a dog before going on his honeymoon—as if his first spell wasn’t more than any silly little puppy is worth? If it isn’t enough to split one’s skin.
‘Well! I don’t need to think out what is to be done, at any rate,’ Psamathos continued. ‘There is only one possible thing. You have got to go and find him and beg his pardon. But my word! I’ll remember this against him, till the sea is twice as salt and half as wet. Just you two go for a walk, and be back in half an hour when my temper’s better!’
Mew and Rover went along the shore and up the cliff, Mew flying slowly and Rover trotting along very sad. They stopped outside the little boys’ father’s house; and Rover even went in at the gate, and sat in a flower-bed under the boys’ window. It was still very early, but he barked and barked hopefully. The little boys were either still fast asleep or away, for nobody came to the window. Or so Rover thought. He had forgotten that things are different on the world from the back-garden of the moon, and that Artaxerxes’ bewitchment was still on his size, and the size of his bark.
After a little while Mew took him mournfully back to the cove. There an altogether new surprise was waiting for him. Psamathos was talking to a whale! A very large whale, Uin the oldest of the Right Whales. He looked like a mountain to little Rover, lying with his great head in a deep pool near the water’s edge.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get anything smaller at a moment’s notice,’ said Psamathos. ‘But he is very comfortable!’ ‘Walk in!’ said the whale.
‘Good-bye! Walk in!’ said the seagull.
‘Walk in!’ said Psamathos; ‘and