“‘Why?’ I inquired.

“‘Well,’ he said, ’there’s a very strong feeling in the place.  The toys think that they are ill-treated, and not taken care of by children in general.  And there is some truth in it.  Toys come down here by scores that have been broken the first day.  And they are all quite resolved that if any of their old masters or mistresses come this way they shall be punished.’

“‘How will they be punished?’ I inquired.

“’Exactly as they did to their toys, their toys will do to them.  All is perfectly fair and regular.’

“‘I don’t know that I treated mine particularly badly,’ I said; ’but I think I would rather go.’

“‘I think you’d better,’ said the beetle.  ‘Good-evening!’ and I saw him no more.

“I turned to go, but somehow I lost the road.  At last, as I thought, I found it, and had gone a few steps when I came on a detachment of wooden soldiers, drawn up on their lazy tongs.  I thought it better to wait till they got out of the way, so I turned back, and sat down in a corner in some alarm.  As I did so, I heard a click, and the lid of a small box covered with mottled paper burst open, and up jumped a figure in a blue striped shirt and a rabbit-skin beard, whose eyes were intently fixed on me.  He was very like my old Jack-in-a-box.  My back began to creep, and I wildly meditated escape, frantically trying at the same time to recall whether it were I or my brother who originated the idea of making a small bonfire of our own one 5th of November, and burning the old Jack-in-a-box for Guy Fawkes, till nothing was left of him but a twirling bit of red-hot wire and a strong smell of frizzled fur.  At this moment he nodded to me and spoke.

“‘Oh! that’s you, is it?’ he said.

“‘No, it’s not,’ I answered hastily; for I was quite demoralized by fear and the strangeness of the situation.

“‘Who is it, then?’ he inquired.

“‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ I said; and really I was so confused that I hardly did.

“‘Well, we know,’ said the Jack-in-a-box, ’and that’s all that’s needed.  Now, my friends,’ he continued, addressing the toys who had begun to crowd round us, ’whoever recognizes a mistress and remembers a grudge—­the hour of our revenge has come.  Can we any of us forget the treatment we received at her hands?  No!  When we think of the ingenious fancy, the patient skill, that went to our manufacture; that fitted the delicate joints and springs, laid on the paint and varnish, and gave back-hair-combs and ear-rings to our smallest dolls, we feel that we deserved more care than we received.  When we reflect upon the kind friends who bought us with their money, and gave us away in the benevolence of their hearts, we know that for their sakes we ought to have been longer kept and better valued.  And when we remember that the sole object of our own existence was to give pleasure and amusement to our possessors, we have no hesitation in believing that we deserved a handsomer return than to have had our springs broken, our paint dirtied, and our earthly careers so untimely shortened by wilful mischief or fickle neglect.  My friends, the prisoner is at the bar.’