by Dodie Smith
At this speed they simply streaked through the countryside. Soon they were in North Essex, soon through it and into Suffolk. But the dawn was keeping pace with them. By the time they were through Sudbury the sky was no longer a night sky.
“Faster!” Pongo commanded.
And now they went so fast that Pongo feared it might be too much for Missis. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Yes, Pongo,” said Missis. “But it isn’t my idea of a pleasant swoosh. This morning everything was so peaceful—and so still. Now the wind’s awake. I’m just a little afraid my ears may blow off.”
But they were still with her when at last the village nearest to Hell Hall was reached and a halt called, so that the Jack Russell could jump from the Tractor and run to his home. (All the other dogs from the village were already back.) Then it took only a minute to reach the farm.
“Get to bed quickly, Tommy,” said the Sheepdog. “We must leave the Tractor in the road.” (Tommy’s father never could understand how it got there.) “There isn’t a minute to spare. Look at the eastern sky, Pongo.”
Pongo saw with dismay that there was a faint flush of pink. He was about to command, “Quick swoosh” when he realized that, though the tabby cat was safely home, the white cat wasn’t and she couldn’t swoosh. “You must ride on my back,” he told her.
But the white cat refused—though politely. “I’m quite a weight, these days, with all the good food I get. I’ll just walk home. And if the gates won’t open for me, I can climb the wall—without any help from Sirius. So off you go.”
“Then quickest swoosh,” ordered Pongo.
The pink flush in the sky was growing stronger.
“Faster, faster,” cried Pongo.
Now he could see the walls of Hell Hall, now he could see the gates, firmly closed. Would they open?
The Dalmatians halted outside them.
“Please, please, kind gates!” begged Missis.
The gates swung inwards—and there, waiting on the lawn, were Prince and Perdita and all the Dalmatians who had remained at Hell Hall.
“Oh, we were so afraid you wouldn’t get here in time,” said Perdita.
“Did you see Sirius, too?” asked Missis.
“I think all the dogs in the world saw him,” said Prince. “And if I understand him rightly, we should all get to our beds instantly. At any moment the doors will close—and refuse to open for us.”
Pongo nodded. “Every dog to his bed,” he commanded.
The dogs who slept in the stables converted into kennels went as fast as they could—and Pongo noticed that they ran, now; they didn’t swoosh. The magic was fading.
“Now upstairs, quickly,” he told Missis.
“Do just let me hear where Roly’s been,” said Missis.
Roly Poly was one of the dogs who slept in the kitchen. He was on his way there now but he turned back.
“Oh, I just went to Paris,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“You didn’t, you couldn’t have,” said Missis. Surely Paris was in France, across the sea? “Oh, Pongo, I must hear about this!”
They were in the hall now. Pongo said to Prince. “You and Perdita run upstairs and stop the bedroom door from closing. And bark if it tries to. Now, Roly!”
Roly Poly said, “It was George. He’s always wanted to go abroad. The Foreign Secretary—I mean the human one—is always going, but he can’t take George because of the quarantine laws. So after I taught him to swim this morning, he thought we might both risk swooshing across the Channel—and we did it quite easily; we didn’t even get our feet wet. And then we swooshed to Paris and it was wonderful. We had lots of fun. Then we were told to look at the sky at midnight, and we saw Sirius—on top of the Eiffel Tower. And he noticed us, he knew we were English dogs. And he said we could have a little extra swooshing power, to get us home in time. That’s how I managed to catch up with you.”
“Did you like Paris better than London?” asked Missis.
“You can talk about that tomorrow,” said Pongo.
From upstairs Prince called, “This door is beginning to feel restive.”
“Upstairs instantly!” Pongo told Missis, giving her a push.
She went obediently but called back to Roly. “Did you get on well with the French dogs?”
“Splendidly,” said Roly. “And you should have seen George with the French lady-dogs. Ooh, la, la!”
Pongo and Missis hurried into the Dearlys’ bedroom.
“Now you can let the door have its way,” said Pongo.
The minute Prince and Perdita left the door, it very firmly closed. And all over Hell Hall doors could be heard closing, the kitchen door, the front door, the doors of all the kennels and—last of all—the tall iron gates clanged together.
“How well and peaceful the dear Dearlys look,” said Missis, getting into her much-loved basket. “Won’t they be surprised when they wake up and find out they’ve missed a whole day?”
“I don’t think they will find out,” said Pongo. “And I don’t think they, or any humans, will ever know about this day we’ve lived through. And perhaps many dogs will forget it.”
Missis said she never would, and Perdita, now settling in her basket, said she wouldn’t either.
“But perhaps we shall think of it as a dream,” said Prince, as he too settled down. “And in some ways it was like one, with so many things happening at once. Pongo, how was it that Sirius could talk to all the dogs in the world, in so many different places, all at the same time?”
Pongo shook his head. “I just don’t know.”
“Oh, I do,” said Missis brightly. “In Space there probably aren’t any clocks. And where there are no clocks there’s no such thing as time. But it’s simpler to believe it was all done by magic. Magic’s so easy to believe in.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Perdita.
“Though there’s a new word for magic now. It’s ‘metaphysical’. I’ll explain that to you, tomorrow, Perdita.” Missis relaxed in her basket, then said in a surprised tone, “I’m hungry! How nice! Now I can look forward to breakfast. Of course I haven’t minded going without food today—I haven’t missed it. But I do believe I’ve missed missing it. And I’ll tell you something else. I think there would be a catch about that nice bliss. After a while, you wouldn’t notice it. Oh, hello!”
The white cat had climbed in through the window. She said, “It’s like that night I climbed through your kitchen window in Regent’s Park, after I ran away from Cruella de Vil.”
“Oh, dear,” said Missis. “How dreadful it is to think that Cruella will soon be waking up.”
Pongo grinned. “Well, at least we shall always hear her coming, in those clanking clothes. Go to sleep, Missis dear.”
The white cat joined her husband and gave him a fairly hard push. She adored him but that was no reason why he should have more than his fair share of their basket. He did not stir and soon she, too, was asleep. And so were Missis and Prince and Perdita—and, of course, the Dearlys. Only Pongo was still awake.
He remembered how, only yesterday morning, he had lain here hankering for adventure. Well, he’d had the adventure, and he was very, very glad it was over. He couldn’t imagine ever longing for another. How fortunate he was! He looked lovingly at the sleeping Dearlys.
And suddenly he was frightened. Why hadn’t they wakened? True, the dogs had talked in whispers, but early morning whispering usually woke the Dearlys who always said, “Quiet!,” very firmly. Why were they so heavily asleep? Perhaps they weren’t going to wake.
Then Pongo noticed a marvellous sound. Outside, birds were twittering, lots of birds. If the birds had woken up in the normal way, then so would the Dearlys. And then a shaft of early sunlight shone full on Mr. Dearly, who half opened his eyes, then turned over and slept again.
All was well, Pongo told himself, gazing at the rising sun. Mr. Dearly, when walking around the garden under the stars, had said that Sirius, the Dog Star, rose with the
sun, though one couldn’t see stars in the daylight. Was Sirius there now? And could he still read the minds of dogs? Just in case, Pongo sent him a message. “Perhaps one day, Sirius, we shall be ready to join you and accept bliss. But not yet. You see, we do have quite a lot of bliss already.”
And then Pongo, feeling as young and happy as a puppy, rolled over on his back and went to sleep with his four paws in the air.
also by Dodie Smith:
The Hundred and One Dalmatians
I Capture the Castle
THE STARLIGHT BARKING. Copyright © 1967 by Dodie Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address A Wyatt Book for St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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First published by William Heinemann Ltd. 1967
eISBN 9781250088741
First eBook edition: May 2015
