“But couldn’t some of the other animals tell you as well?”

“I don’t think so,” said the Doctor, prodding the sausages with a fork.  “To be sure, the monkeys I knew in Africa some time ago were very helpful in telling me about bygone days; but they only went back a thousand years or so.  No, I am certain that the oldest history in the world is to be had from the shellfish—­and from them only.  You see most of the other animals that were alive in those very ancient times have now become extinct.”

“Have you learned any shellfish language yet?” I asked.

“No.  I’ve only just begun.  I wanted this particular kind of a pipe-fish because he is half a shellfish and half an ordinary fish.  I went all the way to the Eastern Mediterranean after him.  But I’m very much afraid he isn’t going to be a great deal of help to me.  To tell you the truth, I’m rather disappointed in his appearance.  He doesn’t look very intelligent, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t,” I agreed.

“Ah,” said the Doctor.  “The sausages are done to a turn.  Come along—­hold your plate near and let me give you some.”

Then we sat down at the kitchen-table and started a hearty meal.

It was a wonderful kitchen, that.  I had many meals there afterwards and I found it a better place to eat in than the grandest dining-room in the world.  It was so cozy and home-like 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.