Peter’s coal-mine.

           "Whatfun!"saidMother,inthedark,feelingforthematchesonthetable."Howfrightenedthepoormicewere—Idon’tbelievetheywereratsatall."

           Shestruckamatchandrelightedthecandleandeveryonelookedateachotherbyitswinky,blinkylight.

           "Well,"shesaid,"you’veoftenwantedsomethingtohappenandnowithas.Thisisquiteanadventure,isn’tit?ItoldMrs.Vineytogetussomebreadandbutter,andmeatandthings,andtohavesupperready.Isupposeshe’slaiditinthedining-room.Solet’sgoandsee."

           Thedining-roomopenedoutofthekitchen.Itlookedmuchdarkerthanthekitchenwhentheywentinwiththeonecandle.Becausethekitchenwaswhitewashed,butthedining-roomwasdarkwoodfromfloortoceiling,andacrosstheceilingtherewereheavyblackbeams.Therewasamuddledmazeofdustyfurniture—thebreakfast-roomfurniturefromtheoldhomewheretheyhadlivedalltheirlives.Itseemedaverylongtimeago,andaverylongwayoff.

           Therewasthetablecertainly,andtherewerechairs,buttherewasnosupper.

           "Let’slookintheotherrooms,"saidMother;andtheylooked.Andineachroomwasthesamekindofblunderinghalf-arrangementoffurniture,andfire-ironsandcrockery,andallsortsofoddthingsonthefloor,buttherewasnothingtoeat;eveninthepantrytherewereonlyarustycake-tinandabrokenplatewithwhiteningmixedinit.