and warm. It was so handy for the food too. You took it right
off the fire, hot, and put it on the table and ate it. And you
could watch your toast toasting at the fender and see it didn't
burn while you drank your soup. And if you had forgotten to put
the salt on the table, you didn't have to get up and go into
another room to fetch it; you just reached round and took the big
wooden box off the dresser behind you. Then the fireplace--the
biggest fireplace you ever saw--was like a room in itself. You
could get right inside it even when the logs were burning and sit
on the wide seats either side and roast chestnuts after the meal
was over--or listen to the kettle singing, or tell stories, or
look at picture-books by the light of the fire. It was a
marvelous kitchen. It was like the Doctor, comfortable, sensible,
friendly and solid.

While we were gobbling away, the door suddenly opened and in
marched the duck, Dab-Dab, and the dog, Jip, dragging sheets and
pillow-cases behind them over the clean tiled floor. The Doctor,
seeing how surprised I was, explained:

"They're just going to air the bedding for me in front of the
fire. Dab-Dab is a perfect treasure of a housekeeper; she never
forgets anything. I had a sister once who used to keep house for
me (poor, dear Sarah! I wonder how she's getting on--I haven't
seen her in many years). But she wasn't nearly as good as
Dab-Dab. Have another sausage?"

The Doctor turned and said a few words to the dog and duck in
some strange talk and signs. They seemed to understand him
perfectly.