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I reckon I’ll doddle up there at midnight,’ said Is, ‘and see what’s to be seen.’
    Wally at once offered to come too, but she would not allow him.
    ‘Whatever it is might not happen if there was two of us. ‘Sides, you’re too big, Wally. You’d show up. You ain’t a kid no more. Anyhows, you got your da to look out for. But keep the pancake. And if I don’t come back, show it to King Dick.’
    At eleven o’clock, therefore, she hugged them both goodbye, said, rather gruffly, ‘You might send my love to Pen if I ain’t home by Christmas,’ and set off to walk to Euston Green.
    The streets were mostly empty at that time of night, and her way, through Cheapside and Holborn and Farringdon Street, took her less time than she had reckoned; she reached the neighbourhood of Euston Green at about twenty minutes before midnight.
    It was a rough wild area, still more or less on the edge of town, with unbuilt-on land stretching away to the north, which could not properly be called country, for it was covered with vegetable gardens, and sheds, and brickworks, tanneries, livery stables, and great mounds of rubbish.
    Making a slow and cautious approach to the north end of Euston Green (a patch of unkempt weeds grazed by geese and costermongers’ donkeys), Is located the big warehouse of which Wally had spoken. It was a massive, partly ruined building, at least three storeys high. Against a sky now blazing with wintry stars it showed up as an irregular, gaunt shape, sombre and spiky. In front of it lay a patch of inky shadow and, edging warily closer, Is found that this piece of shade was entirely packed with silent children. There must have been several hundred of them, all totally quiet. So far as could be made out in the dark, they were of every possible kind. Large, small, some decently clad, some ragged and dirty. All they had in common was their complete silence.
    On the stroke of midnight – clanged out by not-too-far-distant St Pancras Church – the very faintest of creaks could be heard, and the crowd shifted a little, softly and expectantly. Then, unit by unit, Is realised that it was beginning to diminish. She was on the southernmost edge of the group, and felt that everybody was moving north, inchmeal, drifting by scarcely noticeable stages towards the black wall of the factory building. A narrow hatch, she presently saw, had slightly opened and, one after another, children from the crowd were slipping inside, without making the least sound. Is, lingering on the outskirts, came last of all, and stepped through the wicket from darkness into deeper darkness.
    ‘You the finish?’ demanded a voice in a whisper.
    ‘Yus, I reckon.’
    There was a pause, while she felt somebody brush past her and look out, presumably to check her statement. Next she was searched, not roughly but thoroughly, the contents of her pockets removed, inspected, put back. Lucky I tucked that token into my lining, she thought. After that, she was given a gentle push into what seemed to be a passage with canvas walls, the darkness giving place to dim light as she passed along. Then she stumbled down a flight of stone steps, holding on to a wooden rail, passed through a door – and suddenly emerged into a place of dazzling light and colour.
    It was also shatteringly noisy – so much so that, for several minutes, she stood with her eyes shut and hands clapped over her ears. Then, opening her eyes, she took careful stock of her surroundings.
    She found that she was standing in a large, high hall. Far above her head, the domed ceiling appeared to be made of glass, which threw back reflections from rows of gaseliers giving light along the walls. These walls were painted in gaudy colours with crude pictures of birds and trees, dancers, toys, colourful goodies and cakes piled in dishes, also trumpets, drums, ribbons and flags. Here and there, man-sized capital letters proclaimed: HUZZA , YOU ARE OFF TO PLAYLAND! HAPPY JOURNEY! NOW YOU WILL