"I looked, thought I must have seen it before, and wondered why a very
common-looking box without a lid should affect me so strangely, and why
my memory should seem struggling to bring it back out of the past.
Suddenly it came to me--it was our old Toy Box.

"I had completely forgotten that nursery institution till recalled by
the familiar aspect of the inside, which was papered with proof-sheets
of some old novel on which black stars had been stamped by way of
ornament. Dim memories of how these stars, and the angles of the box,
and certain projecting nails interfered with the letter-press and
defeated all attempts to trace the thread of the nameless narrative,
stole back over my brain; and I seemed once more, with my head in the
Toy Box, to beguile a wet afternoon by apoplectic endeavours to follow
the fortunes of Sir Charles and Lady Belinda, as they took a favourable
turn in the left-hand corner at the bottom of the trunk.

"'What are you staring at?' said the beetle.

"'It's my old Toy Box!' I exclaimed.

"The beetle rolled on to his back, and struggled helplessly with his
legs: I turned him over. (Neither the first nor the last time of my
showing that attention to beetles.)

"'That's right,' he said, 'set me on my legs. What a turn you gave me!
You don't mean to say you have any toys here? If you have, the sooner
you make your way home the better.'

"'Why?' I inquired.