Part I Chapter 4 Doctor Dolittle's Return by Hugh Lofting
THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON
At Cheapside's words a great chattering broke out among the animals. Every one of them decided he wanted to stay up and see the eclipse. Usually our household was a very free one, quite different in that way—as well as many others—from a household of people. Everybody went to bed at whatever hour he wished—though if we did not want a scolding from Dab-Dab we all had to be pretty much on time for meals. The last few months, however (even while we carefully took turns watching the moon for the smoke signals), we had been going to bed pretty early in order to save candles.
Gub-Gub was dreadfully afraid that he would miss the eclipse by falling asleep. This was something he did very easily at any hour at all. He made us promise to wake him if he should doze off before eleven o'clock. Cheapside's coming had cheered us all up. We certainly needed it. I thought something should be done to celebrate.
And so, as it turned out, that particular eclipse of the moon was made a very special occasion and a sort of a party.
Immediately after tea I ran down to the town and spent a little of the money I had saved up on some things for a special supper. I got the right time, too, while I was shopping and corrected the grandfather's clock in the hall when I got back to the house.
We had a very gay meal, everybody chattering and laughing over the sparrow's ridiculous jokes and songs. As usual, I was asked no end of questions—this time about eclipses and what they were like. I found some of them very difficult to answer, because, though I had seen an eclipse of the sun once, I had never seen one of the moon.
All the animals wanted to make sure of a good place to watch from, where they could see the show properly. This was not easy. There were several high trees near the house; and at half-past ten the moon looked as though it might very soon be hidden by their top branches—that is, if one tried to watch the eclipse from the garden. So Gub-Gub said he wanted to see it from the roof, the same as Cheapside. I explained to him that it was easy for the birds, like Too-Too, Dab-Dab and the sparrow—and even for the white mouse, because they could cling to the ridge and keep their balance, but that it would be much more difficult for him and Jip and myself.
However, there was a trap-door in the roof which let you out from the attic on to the tiles, close to the big chimney. In the attic I managed to rig up two step-ladders with a sort of platform, made out of boards and packing-cases on the top. By standing on this we were able to stick our heads out of the trap-door.
It was a fine place for a view. I could see the town of Puddleby, three miles away, even the buildings and everything—the church tower, the town hall, the winding river, all bathed in the light of the moon.
On the platform Jip, Gub-Gub and I stationed ourselves to wait. The white mouse I had brought up in my pocket. I let him go on the tiles where, with squeals of joy, he ran along the ridge or capered up and down the steep slopes of the roof, absolutely fearless, just as though he were on solid ground.
"Can't I get out on to the tiles too, Tommy?" asked Gub-Gub. "Whitey is going to get a much better view than we can here—with just our noses poking out of this hole."
"No," I said, "better not. You can see the moon quite well from where you are. Whitey can cling on to steep places where none of us could."
However, while my back was turned, Gub-Gub did scramble out on to the roof—with sad consequences. I heard a terrible squawk and turning around I saw him lose his balance and go rolling down the slope of the roof like a ball.
"Great Heavens!" I said to Jip. "He'll be killed—or badly hurt anyway."
"Don't worry," said Jip. "He's well padded. Most likely he'll just bounce when he hits the ground. You can't hurt that pig."
With a dreadful shriek Gub-Gub disappeared into the darkness over the edge of the slope and for a second we listened in silence. But instead of the thud of his falling on the garden path, the sound of a big splash came up to us. The white mouse ran down the slope and looked over the edge of the rain-gutter.
"It's all right, Tommy," he called back to me. "He's fallen into the rain-water butt."
I jumped to the attic floor, ran down the stairs and out into the garden.
In those days all country houses had rain-water butts. They were big barrels set close to the walls to catch rain-water from the roof. Into one of these poor Gub-Gub had fallen—luckily for him. When I came up he was swimming and gasping in the water, quite unable to get out, but not hurt in the least. I fished him up to the top, carried him into the kitchen and rubbed him with a towel. He was a wetter but a wiser pig.
When I had got him dry I heard the hall clock strike eleven and we hurried back to the trapdoor.
As we started to get up on to the platform Jip called to me:
"Hurry, Tommy, hurry! It's beginning!"
Then I heard Too-Too calling from the other end of the roof:
"Here it is. The shadow! Look! The shadow creeping over the moon."
I sprang out of the trap-door and stood on the ridge, steadying myself with one hand on the chimney.
It was indeed a remarkable sight. There was not a cloud in the sky. A great round shadow, like a tea-tray, was creeping slowly across the face of the moon. The country about us had been all flooded with light, almost like day. But now the world slowly began to darken as the moon's light went out, shut off by the giant shadow of the earth. Even Puddleby River, which had shone so clearly, was gone in the darkness. Little by little the shadow crept on until the moon was hidden altogether; only a faint, pale, glowing ring—like a will-o'-the-wisp—was left standing in the sky where it had been. It was the blackest night.
"My goodness, Tommy!" whispered Gub-Gub, "isn't it exciting? Will it stay this way?"
"Not for long, Gub-Gub," I said. "In a few seconds you will see the moon again, just the edge of it at first, when our shadow passes off it."
"But I don't see myself there," said Gub-Gub. "We're sitting up on top of the house, as plain as a pikestaff. There ought to be the shadow of a pig and a dog and a boy there."
"Tee, hee, hee!" tittered the white mouse out of the darkness at my elbow.
"No, Gub-Gub," I said. "Our bodies can throw a shadow on the ground, or a wall, both by sunlight and moonlight. But we are too small—as far away from it as this—to throw a shadow on the moon."
"Humph! I'm very disappointed," grunted Gub-Gub. "I would have liked to see my shadow on the moon."
"You are a kind of a comical scientist, you are, Piggy," chirped Cheapside from the chimney top above our heads. "An eclipse of the bacon, ha!"
"But, listen, Tommy," said Jip. "You said the moon's light is only the light of the sun reflected back to us here, the same as a mirror, didn't you? Very well then: if the earth on which we stand is now in between the sun and the moon—throwing a shadow over it—then any one in the moon at this moment will have the light of the sun cut off, wouldn't he?"
"Yes, Jip," I said. "That's quite right. The moon is now having an eclipse of the sun while we are having an eclipse of the moon.... There you are, Gub-Gub, the shadow is passing off now. You can just see a thin line of the moon beginning to show on the—My goodness, what was that?"
"Tommy! Tommy!" screamed Dab-Dab. "Did you see that? A puff of smoke—just at the end of the white line of the moon!"
"Yes, I saw it!" I shouted back. "Yes, look—there it goes again!"
"White smoke!" said Jip solemnly.
"The signal, the signal at last!" cried Too-Too. "It's the Doctor!" said the white mouse. "Yes, it's the Doctor, all right," chirped Cheapside. "'E's comin' back to us. Gawd bless 'im!"