Explore "Harding's Luck" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
That night Dickie could not sleep. And as he lay awake a great resolve grew strong within him. He would try once more the magic of the moonseeds and the rattle and the white seal, and try to get back into that other world. So he crept down into the parlor where a little layer of clear, red fire still burned.
And now the moonseeds and the voices and the magic were over and Dickie awoke, thrilled to feel how cleverly he had managed everything, moved his legs in the bed, rejoicing that he was no longer lame. Then he opened his eyes to feast them on the big, light tapestried room. But the room was not tapestried. It was panelled. And it was rather dark. And it was so small as not to be much better than a cupboard.