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advised us to turn into crocodiles. A crocodile, she said, was always cool, and she couldn’t think of anything that would give the villagers a worse fright than seeing a pair of enormous crocodiles coming up the street.’
    â€˜I don’t think I want to be an enormous crocodile,’ said Dorinda.
    â€˜Nor do I,’ said Dinah, ‘and I told her so at once. So then she said that a crocodile was her choice, and if we didn’t like it, we should have to think of something for ourselves. She said she would give us a magic draught that would turn us into anything at all, but I would have to wait while she made it, because she hadn’t any of that particular sort in stock. And that’s why I was late, because it took her about an hour to make it. She put a pot on the fire, and while she was making it, she sang a song which was the recipe for the draught.’
    â€˜Does she sing well?’ asked Dorinda.
    â€˜No, not very well,’ said Dinah, ‘but very clearly. You could hear every word.’
    â€˜Do you remember the song?’
    â€˜I think so. Wait a minute, and I’ll try to sing it.’
    Dinah frowned and whispered to herself, rehearsing the lines, and then in a small clear voice she sang:
    â€˜A Cuckoo-clock and half a Leek,
    A Monkey’s Paw and a Pigling’s Cheek,
    Deadly Nightshade, a pinch of Salt,
    A Tiger’s Whisker and some Malt, A Tadpole and a Stickleback,
    Something White and Something Black—
    Put in Pot and let ’em Simmer
    (Blow the Fire, it’s getting dimmer),
    Put in Pot and let ’em Boil
    In the best Banana Oil.
    â€˜Feather of Bird that never Flew,
    A Rose and a Radish, a sprig of Rue,
    A Viper’s Tongue, an Adder’s Bile,
    A Worm from the Tooth of a Crocodile,
    Three Black Hairs from a Bull’s Tail,
    A Sparrow, a Spider, and a Snail—
    Put in Pot and let ’em Simmer
    (Blow the Fire, it’s getting dimmer),
    Put in Pot and let ’em Boil In the best Banana Oil.
    â€˜A Nightjar’s Egg, the Blood of a Bat,
    The Naked Ear of an old Tom Cat,
    A Weasel’s Brain and a Peacock’s Eye,
    A Bunch of Nettles, a Warble Fly,
    Puddle-water and Moonlight,
    Something Black and Something White—
    Put in Pot and let ’em Simmer
    (Blow the Fire, it’s getting dimmer),
    Put in Pot and let ’em Boil
    In the best Banana Oil!’
    â€˜It’s a nice song,’ said Dorinda, ‘but I don’t think the medicine will have a very nice taste.’
    â€˜It will be quite horrible, I’m afraid,’ said Dinah.
    â€˜But we can hold our noses and drink it very quickly,’ said Dorinda, ‘and then we shall become—well, what shall we become? There are so many animals, it’s very difficult to choose. I don’t want to be a hippopotamus, or anything like that. I should love to be an antelope, but an antelope, of course, wouldn’t frighten anyone. What shall we become, Dinah?’
    â€˜I’ve been thinking about it very carefully,’ said Dinah, ‘and it occurred to me that there’s one very big disadvantage in being an animal. Animals don’t usually have pockets, and they can’t carry a purse or a handbag. But if we are going to be away from home for a few days, we shall certainly want to take a tooth-brush and a clean pocket-handkerchief.’
    â€˜And some chocolate,’ said Dorinda.
    â€˜And it would be a good idea to take a note-book.’
    â€˜And I shouldn’t like to go away without my new watch,’ said Dorinda.
    â€˜And we shall have to take the magic draught, of course, so that we can turn ourselves back into girls when we want to.’
    â€˜I suppose,’ said Dorinda, ‘that we could tie a little bag round our necks, to carry things in.’
    â€˜I’ve thought of something better than that,’ said Dinah. ‘There’s one sort of animal that has got pockets.’
    â€˜I