<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<div>
<h1 id="booktitle">THE RAINBOW BOOK</h1>
<div class="topbox">
<p class="centered"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i>
<br/><br/>
LITTLEDOM CASTLE
<br/>
MY SON AND I
<br/>
MARGERY REDFORD
<br/>
THE LOVE FAMILY
<br/>
THE CHILD OF THE AIR</p>
</div>
<p class="h5"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="592" alt="The Fish-King and the Dog-Fish" title="The Fish-King and the Dog-Fish"></div>
<p class="caption">The Fish-King and the Dog-Fish</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/z006.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="624" alt="Title Page" title="Title Page"> <p class="caption">The Rainbow Book Tales of Fun & Fancy <br/> By Mrs. M. H. SPIELMANN
<br/>
Illustrated by
<br/>
Arthur Rackham
<br/>
Hugh Thomson
<br/>
Bernard Partridge
<br/>
Lewis Baumer
<br/>
Harry Rountree
<br/>
C. Wilhelm
<br/>
<br/>
NEW YORK
<br/>
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
<br/>
1909</p>
</div>
<p class="spacer"> </p>
<p class="h4">TO</p>
<p class="h3">BARBARA MARY RACKHAM</p>
<p class="h4">WITH ALL GOOD WISHES
<br/>
FOR HER FUTURE HAPPINESS
<br/>
<span style="margin-left:10em">MABEL H. SPIELMANN</span></p>
<hr class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum">[v]</span></p>
<h2>PREFACE</h2>
<p>It's all very well—but you, and I, and most of
us who are healthy in mind and blithe of spirit,
love to give rein to our fun and fancy, and to
mingle fun with our fancy and fancy with our fun.</p>
<p>The little Fairy-people are the favourite children
of Fancy, and were born into this serious
world ages and ages ago to help brighten it, and
make it more graceful and dainty and prettily
romantic than it was. They found the Folk-lore
people already here—grave, learned people whose
learning was all topsy-turvy, for it dealt with toads,
and storms, and diseases, and what strange things
would happen if you mixed them up together, and
how the devil would flee if you did something
with a herb, and how the tempest would stop
suddenly, as Terence records, if you sprinkled a
few drops of vinegar in front of it. No doubt,
since then thousands of people have sprinkled tens
of thousands of gallons of good vinegar before
advancing tempests, and although tempests pay
far less attention to the liquid than the troubled
waters to a pint of oil, the sprinklers and their<span class="pagenum">[vi]</span>
descendants have gone on believing with a touching
faith. It is pretty, but not practical.</p>
<p>But what <i>is</i> pretty and practical too, is that
all of us should sometimes let our fancy roam,
and that we should laugh as well, even over a
Fairy-story. Yet there are some serious-minded
persons, very grave and very clever, who get angry
if a smile so much as creeps into a Fairy-tale,
and if our wonder should be disturbed by anything
so worldly as a laugh. A Fairy-tale, they
say, should be like an old Folk-tale, marked by
sincerity and simplicity—as if humour cannot be
sincere and simple too. "The true Fairy-story is
not comic." Why not? Of this we may be sure—take
all the true humourless Fairy-stories and take
"Alice"—and "Alice" with its fun and fancy will
live beside them as long as English stories are read,
loved for its fancy and its fun, and hugged and
treasured for its jokes and its laughter. The one
objection is this: the "true Fairy-story" appeals
to all children, young and old, in all lands, equally,
by translation; and jokes and fun are sometimes
difficult to translate. But that is on account of
the shortcomings of language, and it is hard to
make young readers suffer by starving them of
fun, because the power of words is less absolute
than the power of fancy in its merrier mood.</p>
<p>Some people, of course, take their Fairies very<span class="pagenum">[vii]</span>
seriously indeed, and we cannot blame them, for
it is a very harmless and very beautiful mental
refreshment. Some, indeed, not only believe firmly
in Fairies—in their existence and their exploits—but
believe themselves to be actually visited by
the Little People. For my part, I would rather
be visited by a Fairy than by a Spook any day,
or night: but when the "sincerity" of some of us
drove the Fairies out, the world was left so blank
and unimaginative, that the Spooks had to be
invited in. The admixture of faith and imagination
produces strange results, while it raises us
above the commonplaceness of everyday life.</p>
<p>But, as I say, certain favoured people, mostly
little girls, it is true, are regularly visited by
Fairies even in the broad daylight, and they watch
them at their pretty business, at their games and
play (for Fairies, you may be sure, play and
laugh, however much the Folk-lorists may frown
when we are made to laugh with them). Two
hundred and fifty years ago a Cornish girl declared
that she had wonderful adventures with the
Fairies—and she meant truly what she said. And
it is only fifty years since an educated lady wrote
a sincere account of her doings with Fairies and
theirs with her, in an account which was reprinted in
one of the most serious of papers, and which showed
that the lady, like the uneducated Cornish girl two<span class="pagenum">[viii]</span>
centuries before, was a true "fairy-seer." Here is
a part of her story:—</p>
<p>"I used to spend a great deal of my time alone
in our garden, and I think it must have been soon
after my brother's death that I first saw (or perhaps
recollect seeing) Fairies. I happened one
day to break, with a little whip I had, the flower
of a buttercup: a little while after, as I was resting
on the grass, I heard a tiny but most beautiful
voice saying, 'Buttercup, who has broken your
house?' Then another voice replied, 'That little
girl that is lying close by you.' I listened in
great wonder, and looked about me, until I saw
a daisy, in which stood a little figure not larger,
certainly, than one of its petals.</p>
<p>"When I was between three and four years old
we removed to London, and I pined sadly for my
country home and friends. I saw none of them
for a long time, I think because I was discontented;
I did not try to make myself happy. At
last I found a copy of Shakespeare in my father's
study, which delighted me so much (though I
don't suppose I understood much of it) that I
soon forgot we were living where I could not
see a tree or a flower. I used to take the book
and my little chair, and sit in a paved yard we
had. (I could see the sky there.) One day, as
I was reading the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' I<span class="pagenum">[ix]</span>
happened to look up, and saw before me a patch
of soft, green grass with the Fairy-ring upon it:
whilst I was wondering how it came, my old
friends appeared and acted the whole play (I
suppose to amuse me). After this they often
came, and did the same with the other plays."</p>
<p>There! what do you say to that? Do you
wonder that the good folk of Blagdon, for example,
still point to the hill "where the fairies
come to dance," and show you the Fairy-rings, like
that which Cedric saw (as is recounted in this book),
with the Little People capering about? Of course,
the country folk don't laugh at them, because it is
all so mysterious, and, as the scientific professors
declare, abnormal, if not supernormal; but do you
believe for one moment, that in their joyous dance
the fairies do not laugh and joke as well as play
and caper? The Bird-Fairy, as appears later, was
always grave and loving, and didn't laugh—but
then <i>she</i> was an enchanted Princess, and had sad
and serious business on hand, and was not quite sure,
sanguine though she was, of defeating the machinations
of the cunning and wicked Wizard. But
look at the classic Grimm, at the tiny, dancing,
capering tailors whose portraits Cruikshank drew
so well in it, and say if there is not a peal of
laughter in every open mouth of them, and a
chuckle in every limb and joint. Not "comic,"<span class="pagenum">[x]</span>
Mr. Folk-lorist? Why, they are the very spirit
and personification of comedy and fun!</p>
<p>But then your scientist comes along and tries to
explain away the Fairy-rings themselves, which
have defied explanation since Fairy-rings first came
among us. Once at Kinning Park at Glasgow
(and thousands of times elsewhere) four Fairy-rings
appeared in one night—on a cricket-ground, if you
please! on which the cricketers had been continuously
playing and practising; and the poets
said that they were made by the Fairies dancing
under the moonlight, or, when the moon went
to bed, by the lamplight of a glow-worm. That,
<i>I</i> think, must be the truth, simple and sincere.
Each ring was a belt of grass darker and greener
than the surrounding turf, and was eight or ten
inches broad; and the largest were nine and ten
feet in diameter, and the others five and six,
measuring from the centre of the belt. And the
circles were accurate and the advent of them quite
sudden. Clearly, the Fairies <i>must</i> have made them.
But then a learned professor arose and lectured
about them before the British Association. He
was a great naturalist, and said that the rings
contained a great number of toad-stools. And he
brought along a chemist who analysed the fungi, and
said he found in them a lot of phosphoric acid and
potash and peroxide of iron and sulphuric acid, and<span class="pagenum">[xi]</span>
a lot of things the fairies had never heard of and certainly
never brought there, and he said that that,
with phosphated alkali and magnesia, accounted for
the rings! And then another great professor said
that they must have been years in coming, and that
electricity might have something to do with it, and
that small rings sometimes spread to fifty yards in
diameter—which only proves the wonderful power
of happy industry of the Fairies, even in their revels
and in their play.</p>
<p>So much for the Fairies.</p>
<p>But everybody is not in love with Fairies; some
people don't care for them, some (as we have seen)
don't even believe in them! Many don't care to
read about them, being insensible to their grace
and pretty elegance, their exquisite dignity, and
their ever-present youth. Who ever heard of a
middle-aged fairy? Such folk, be their age what
it may, generally prefer fun; especially do they
love what Charles Dickens once for all defined and
established as the Spirit of Christmas. Well, here
they may find Father Christmas at home, and
on his rounds. Here they will find revealed and
laid bare the whole secret and mystery of Santa
Claus—where the presents come from, and where
they are stored—how they are packed and how
delivered while we are all asleep in our beds,
delivered from the waits. Here, too, the "old-fangled<span class="pagenum">[xii]</span>
father" is justified in the eyes of his
"new-fangled sons," who recognise that fundamental
truths—and such truths!—are not shaken
by the on-coming tide of Time. And here, besides,
you may learn what goes on on that other side
of the moon which we never see, and what is its
service to Man, and to Woman and Child as well.
And for the first time in the history of romance
we discover what it was that the Sleeping Beauty
dreamt. And there are stories of other kinds—with
a touch of pathos, too.</p>
<p>Story-telling is the oldest of the arts—the art
of which we never tire—the art which will be out-lived
by none other, however fascinating, however
beautiful, however perfect. It may deal with
human thought and human passion; it may appeal
to the highest intellect and the profoundest sentiments
of men; or just to the brightest and
dreamiest fancy of the young. Be it but well
told, even though it does not stir our emotions,
the little story delights the imagination, and makes
us grateful to the teller for an hour well spent
or pleasantly whiled away. That is the greatest
reward of the writer, as it is the sole ambition
of the author of these little tales.</p>
<p class="author"><i>Mister</i> M. H. SPIELMANN.<span class="pagenum">[xiii]</span></p>
<p class="spacer"> </p>
<p class="h3">CONTENTS</p>
<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Table of Contents">
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2">Adventures in Wizard-land—</td>
<td class="tdrfirst">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Arthur Rackham, A.R.W.S.</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">I.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_I">A Knock at the Red Door</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">II.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_II">The Wizard at Home</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">8</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr"> III.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_III">The Bird-Fairy Speaks</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">18</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IV.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_IV">The Lost Catseye</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">26</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">V.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_V">In the Fish-King's Realm</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">45</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VI.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_VI">The Mystery of the Crab</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">67</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr"> VII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Magic Bracelets</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">76</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
<td class="tdl"><SPAN href="#CHAPTER_VIII">The Spell—and how it Worked</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">83</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#THE_OLD-FANGLED_FATHER_AND">The Old-Fangled Father and his New-Fangled Sons</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">91</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#THE_LITTLE_PICTURE_GIRL">The Little Picture Girl</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">103</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson, R.I.</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#THE_SLEEPING_BEAUTYS_DREAM">The Sleeping Beauty's Dream</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">117</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Bernard Partridge, R.I.</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#THE_GAMEKEEPERS_DAUGHTER">The Gamekeeper's Daughter</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">123</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Lewis Baumer</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#ALL_ON_A_FIFTH_OF_NOVEMBER">All on a Fifth of November</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">139</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#FATHER_CHRISTMAS_AT_HOME">Father Christmas at Home</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">150</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Arthur Rackham, A.R.W.S.</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum">[xiv]</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#A_BIRTHDAY_STORY">A Birthday Story</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">168</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#LITTLE_STARRY">Little Starry</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">178</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#CEDRICS_UNACCOUNTABLE">Cedric's Unaccountable Adventure</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">187</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Harry Rountree</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#ROSELLA">Rosella</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">206</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#THE_CUCKOO_THAT_LIVED_IN_THE">The Cuckoo that Lived in the Clock-House</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">220</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#CHRISTMAS_AT_THE_COURT_OF">Christmas at the Court of King Jorum</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">229</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson, R.I.</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#ONE_APRIL_DAY">One April Day</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">247</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#THE_STORM_THE_TEAPOT_BREWED">The Storm the Teapot Brewed</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">259</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc" colspan="2"><SPAN href="#MONICA_THE_MOON_CHILD">Monica the Moon Child</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">268</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl"><i>Illustrated by</i> <span class="smcap">C. Wilhelm<span class="pagenum">[xv]</span></span></td>
</tr>
</table></div>
<p class="spacer"> </p>
<p class="h3">ILLUSTRATIONS</p>
<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#frontispiece">The Fish-king and the Dog-Fish</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrfirst"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"> </td>
<td class="tdrfirst"><i>To face page</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z028">"So you've come to see the Wizard," he said</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">6</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z076">Its Head was patted graciously</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">52</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z088">What a glorious Ride that was</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">62</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z098">She stroked it—actually stroked it</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">70</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z112">Taking the Boy and Girl by a Hand, he led them</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">82</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z136">The Little Picture Girl</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">104</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z144">In marched a stout Beadle</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">110</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z156">Then she accepted his invitation to Dance</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">120</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z160">"It is you, O Prince, the Youth of my Dream!"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">122</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z166">"You can just hand over that Pheasant"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">126</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z172">"Who are you, then?"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">130</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z182">She ran and fetched his Presents she was anxious to show</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">138</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z200">It was a very, very long Ladder</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">154</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z212">The two Reindeer ... sped rapidly away</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">164</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z240">Lay low, and hatched an audacious Plot</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">190</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z244">"Of course your young Majesty has got the Key?"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">192</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z258">"I really do look every inch a King!"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">204</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z288">Looking neither to the Right nor to the Left</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">232</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z332">Round about was nothing but Mountains, Craters, Caverns</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">274</td>
</tr>
</table></div>
<p class="spacer"> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[xvi]</span></p>
<p class="h3">ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT</p>
<div class="centered">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Illustrations in the Text">
<tr>
<td class="tdl"> </td>
<td class="tdrfirst">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z022">Adventures in Wizard-Land</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z034">"All these poor Creatures were Children"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">11</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z037">He took Two Jewelled Circlets out of a Satchel</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">14</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z042">"I am the Bird-Fairy," she said</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">19</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z084">They met many a Quaint Creature</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">59</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z118">The Wizard, with a Groan of Pain, had leapt back</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">87</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z120">Lying full length on the Ground next to his shattered Invention</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">89</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z134">Initial</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">103</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z140">He mounted it very carefully</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">107</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z148">Smiled as she waved Good-bye</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">113</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z204">"I suppose you know you're trespassing?"</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">157</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z325">Monica the Moon Child</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">268</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z330">She was soaring like a Bird right out into the Night</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">273</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z339">A Tiny Figure, no bigger than Monica's Doll</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">280</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z342">Rows upon Rows of the beautifullest Roses</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">283</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlsc"><SPAN href="#z348">The Man lifted his Arm so that his Face was once more hidden in gloom</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdr">289</td>
</tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="thin">
<p class="h5"><i>The Title-page and End-papers are by</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Carton Moore Park</span>.</p>
<div class="big">
<hr class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z022" id="z022"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z022.jpg" width-obs="498" height-obs="264" alt="" title=""></div>
<p><span class="pagenum">[1]</span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></SPAN>CHAPTER I</h2>
<p class="h3">A KNOCK AT THE RED DOOR</p>
<p>"It's a shame, Dulcie. We mayn't go out just
because it's raining a few drops," said the boy at
the nursery window.</p>
<p>"Yes, a fearful shame," replied his sister. She
always sympathised with him and gave in to him,
right or wrong. She carefully propped her doll bolt
upright on a chair and came to where he stood.
"Never mind, Cyril. Let's play at something."</p>
<p>"Yes, but I do mind. It's too bad! It's always
'you mustn't' this, 'you mustn't' that. It would
be a saving of breath if they'd just say the few
things that we <i>might</i> do. Are you willing to go
on putting up with it? I suppose you are, as
you're only a girl."<span class="pagenum">[2]</span></p>
<p>"No, I don't want to, but I've got to. Mother
says it is for our good, and we are spoilt."</p>
<p>"I don't think so at all. It's very hard lines,"
growled Cyril. "I'm sure the garden isn't a bit wet,
and the rocks have only a sprinkle."</p>
<p>Certainly the window panes had more than a
sprinkle trickling down them. But the birds were
twittering fussily in the bushes and amongst the
ivy, and the garden was looking its best in the
summer shower. Fitful gleams of sunshine cast
loving touches here and there on the roses and the
sweet honeysuckle; and the tall white lilies never
looked fresher or smarter. Beyond, were those
tempting rocks, with their surroundings of sand,
which rose so strangely in that part of inland Kent,
telling of former ages and of the vagaries of the sea
and river. The rocks were the happy playground
of these lucky Twins, who lived in the fine solitary
house close by, and who were now peering so disconsolately
through the window, flattening their noses
against the glass blurred with the pattering rain.</p>
<p>They were exactly the same height; they resembled
one another in feature, and, being twins,
were both nine years old; and there the likeness
ended, for his dark hair was short and thick, and
hers was fair and very long. She was timid and
gentle though her bright face was very happy; he,
what is termed "a handful."<span class="pagenum">[3]</span></p>
<p>"<i>I</i> know!" exclaimed Dulcie after a moment's
silence, drawing her brother away from the melancholy
amusement of tracing down the trailing drops
with his finger until they disappeared mysteriously
at the bottom of the glass. "I know! Let's play
'Birds, Beasts, and Fishes.'"</p>
<p>Cyril cast a lingering look at the tiresome dark
clouds, then with a sigh and a frown turned round
in token of consent, graciously suffered himself to
be settled at the table with paper and pencil, and
was soon excitedly trying to guess what Dulcie's
Bird could be that began with the letter c, had four
between, and ended with an <i>e</i>.</p>
<p>"It's very easy, really," pleaded Dulcie, burning
to tell. "Do you give it up?"</p>
<p>Cyril wasn't so easily beaten as that, and thought
till he grew impatient.</p>
<p>"Shall I tell you?—<i>Let</i> me tell you!" urged his
sister.</p>
<p>"If you like," he replied magnanimously.</p>
<p>"Canare!"</p>
<p>"I'm sure it's spelt with a <i>y</i>," he said, as if he
weren't quite certain in spite of his words.</p>
<p>They argued who should score the mark, and
settled the point by counting it a draw. She followed
it up with a Fish, which was <i>s</i>, two between,
and an <i>l</i>, which puzzled Cyril until he found, of
course, that it was "soul."<span class="pagenum">[4]</span></p>
<p>Believing he had lost again, he allowed his interest
in the game to flag, and still restless, he ran to the
window.</p>
<p>"Hooray! it's fine now," he cried. "Come along,
we don't want hats!"</p>
<p>"<i>Ought</i> we to go, do you think, Cyril, without
asking?"</p>
<p>"I'm not going to ask, not if I know it. We
would be sure to be 'don't'-ed. I'm going out.
It's so stuffy here. You can do as you like."</p>
<p>"If you go, I shall go too," she replied quickly,
following him and taking his hand. He didn't
quite like that, but he felt, as she was "only a
woman," he would let her.</p>
<p>Away they ran lightly, out into the sunshine,
happy to be in the warm, scented air, through the
garden, off to the dear old rocks which were already
drying nicely, and at once a fine game of hide-and-seek
was in full swing.</p>
<p>Dulcie had gone again to hide, and Cyril had his
face buried in his hands, waiting for the familiar
"Cuckoo!" when he was startled instead by a faint cry
of surprise, followed by "Cyril, come quick! Quick!"</p>
<p>"It must be a beetle or a toad, or something,"
he said to himself as he hurried to the spot from
which her voice seemed to come; but it was only
after she had repeated her excited cries that he
found her at last.<span class="pagenum">[5]</span></p>
<p>She had found a passage through the rocks which
they had never noticed before!</p>
<p>"Come along!" cried Cyril joyously at the sight
of it. "Come along! we'll go on a voyage of discovery!"</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Down the passage they went, far and carefully, for
there was only a glimmer of light in a thin streak peeping
through, because the rocks all but joined at the
top, and the ground was uneven and slippery. But
in spite of their caution they got a sudden start, for
they became aware of a silent brook flowing deep
and swiftly by, at their feet: another step and they
would have been in it. The Twins, rather startled,
looked at one another, and then without further
thought they just jumped across. Jumped into an
open space—into <span class="smcap">Moonlight</span>. There was actually
a full moon overhead, but with such seams and lines
about it that it bore the appearance of being pieced
together like a geographical puzzle.</p>
<p>"Cyril, look there!" whispered Dulcie, pressing
close up to him, as soon as she found words.</p>
<p>In the white light there stood an immense rock.
In it there was a wooden door with hewn-out steps
leading up to it. A nice red door it was, with a
green knocker upon it in the shape of a mouth
smiling a welcome. Of course they went up to it,
climbed the steps, which were high and difficult, and<span class="pagenum">[6]</span>
stared at the neatly engraved brass plate below it,
which bore the words:</p>
<div class="topbox">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Knock if an answer is required.<br/></span>
<span class="i4">If not, why?<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p>"I'm going to knock," said Cyril.</p>
<p>"Oh no, we don't want any answer," said Dulcie,
"so why do it?"</p>
<p>A backward glance at the steps puzzled her, for
they had grown steeper than before and impossible
to climb down again, or up, for the matter of that,
and the door before which they stood was now at
such a height from the ground as to make her
feel giddy to look below. She hardly had time
to think about it when Cyril raised the knocker
and let it go. Instead of the usual sound a
knocker makes, a loud laugh rang out, discordant
and disconcerting. "You needn't be frightened,"
he remarked, for his little sister hung back and
tightened her grasp of his arm. The next moment
the door swung open and there stood on the threshold
a very tall man with an enormous bald head.
He was clad in a yellow satin dressing-gown, and
wore great smoke-coloured spectacles.</p>
<p>"So you've come to see the Wizard," he said
blandly. "Pray walk in!"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z028" id="z028"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z028.jpg" width-obs="386" height-obs="600" alt=""So you've come to see the Wizard," he said" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"So you've come to see the Wizard," he said</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[7]</span></p>
<p>"I—I think we'd—we'd rather not, thank you
very much," stammered Cyril, very red, whilst
Dulcie looked up, pale and wondering. "We're
not dressed for visiting," she urged in a loud
whisper in her brother's ear.</p>
<p>"But you require an answer, or why knock?"
retorted the strange man. "<i>Pray</i> walk in," he
repeated. He was so polite.</p>
<p>The door swung behind them, and the trembling
twins found themselves alone with the Wizard in
a very large cave, where the walls glowed with
phosphorescent light, while the further end was
hidden in deep gloom.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[8]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></SPAN>CHAPTER II</h2>
<p class="h3">THE WIZARD AT HOME</p>
<p>"How do you do?" said the Wizard, as if he
remembered he had forgotten to ask. The Twins
shyly shook hands with him and said they were
quite well, thank him. They didn't want to a
bit, but he seemed to expect it. "Let's talk
matters over," he added with a smile. It was
such a winning smile that the children began to
feel less uncomfortable. "You're not always
quite content, I believe," and he rubbed his
hands cheerfully together. "That mother of
yours interferes rather too much, eh?" With
a rapid movement he pushed his spectacles away
on to the top of his bumpy baldness, revealing a
pair of small eyes with a red, slumbering glow
in them.</p>
<p>As Cyril didn't reply Dulcie ventured to remark,
"If you please, my brother thinks she says
'don't' too often."</p>
<p>"But how do you know that?" interrupted
Cyril, who, though surprised, took a more practical
view of the situation.<span class="pagenum">[9]</span></p>
<p>"Because," slowly replied the Wizard, taking
off his spectacles and scratching his big nose with
them—"because I was an optician in my youth
and made these glasses, through which I have only
to look to see people as they really are and not
what they appear to be. ["How clever!" broke
in Dulcie under her breath.] I found out at a
glance that you are discontented with your lot,
and prefer to be free. You are tired of control,
eh? Isn't that the state of Home Affairs?"</p>
<p>"Yes," said Cyril, once more full of his wrongs.
"It's only children who are not allowed to do
what they want. Grown-ups do as they like; so
does our dog; he goes out and comes in when he
likes, eats when he wants, leaves what he likes—or
rather, what he doesn't like; so does our cat.
You see," he continued, growing quite chummy,
"we are never allowed to do this, that, and the
other, like other people—animals, I mean—and
they are free and happy, and they needn't bother
with lessons. It's so stupid being a child!" he
concluded plaintively, and Dulcie nodded a similar
opinion.</p>
<p>"Just as I thought. Well, I shouldn't put up
with it if I were you," replied their new friend,
smiling again, and scratching his nose with his
spectacles in his thoughtful, insinuating manner.
"I should advise you to go your own way, seek<span class="pagenum">[10]</span>
your own fortunes, and find your own happiness
for yourselves. We must see what we can do to
help you to freedom. Eh?"</p>
<p>The little guests did not think to thank him, for
their eyes had begun to roam with curiosity over
the strange things that were all about. The cave
dwelling was queerly furnished, if it could be
called furniture. There were animals of all sizes
and shapes, standing around stuffed, staring, and
immovable. Snakes, fish, small birds; an elephant
just like life standing rigidly next to a number of
grinning stuffed monkeys; while a crocodile with
open jaws looked snaps at a startled fawn with
wide-set eyes. It was like a frozen Zoological
Gardens.</p>
<p>"Once upon a time," remarked the Wizard,
following the children's source of interest, "all
those poor creatures were children like you. Ah!
their end was sad, very sad; very sad indeed!"</p>
<p>The Twins didn't like that remark at all, nor
did they relish the winning smile this time that
accompanied it. Then bursting out laughing he
exclaimed—</p>
<p>"Now I'll show you something funny," and he
brought out from a corner what looked like a cinematograph.
"Look!" he said as he touched a
spring and set it going.</p>
<p>There was a hissing sound, and the gloom at the<span class="pagenum">[11]</span>
end of the cave passed away, and there marched
along in living procession all the inhabitants of
their Noah's Ark.</p>
<p>Dulcie and Cyril were transfixed with delight
at this charming entertainment.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z034" id="z034"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z034.jpg" width-obs="497" height-obs="403" alt=""All those poor creatures were children"" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"All those poor creatures were children"</p>
<p>"And we don't pay anything to come in!" remarked
Cyril softly to his sister. "It can't pay him.
They're all going in for safety, you see—all the
birds, all the beasts——"</p>
<p>"Where are the fishes?" anxiously interrupted
his little sister in a whisper.<span class="pagenum">[12]</span></p>
<p>"Don't be such a Billy," retorted Cyril with a
frown; "the fishes are used to being drowned."</p>
<p>After Noah went into the Ark and had shut
the door, the gloom reappeared. The show was
over.</p>
<p>"That's a little idea of my own," remarked the
Wizard as he put the machine away. "Amusing,
isn't it?"</p>
<p>The Twins nodded. Then he invited the children
to look through a hole in the wall of the
cave, and they saw a small room.</p>
<p>"That's my hospitable bedroom," he said, "that
I've endowed myself with. When I'm down in
the mumps from being crouped up here so long,
I go there and wrap myself up in thoughts all nice
and smug. It is fitted with the epileptic light,
rheumatic bells, and all the latest infections.</p>
<p>"Now, what were we talking about before? Ah
yes! My inventions. None of your modern up-to-date
rubbish, only inventions of the future for
me. None of your wireless telephony and wireless
telegraphy for me. Listen to this." He called
out—</p>
<p>"Number A. 1. Sea Power! Have you been
successful in that last little financial venture, Sire?"</p>
<p>There were rushing sounds, as of waves, at the
far end of the cave, and a muffled voice replied—</p>
<p>"No, Cabalistic One, I have lost again. Just<span class="pagenum">[13]</span>
my luck! Dash—sh—sh—" which resolved itself
into the swish-swish of rolling surf. Then all was
quiet again.</p>
<p>"The reply of a friend of mine residing far away
at a place called 'The Billows,'" explained the
Wizard in an offhand way. "I help him in his little
transactions, which are sometimes rather—in fact
very—!" and raising his arm he smothered a laugh
in his yellow satin sleeve which was not pleasant
to hear. "I always like to laugh up there," he explained,
as the children looked surprised.</p>
<p>Dulcie's hand stole into her brother's and she
whispered him to "Come away, come away, do,
quick, and let's go home."</p>
<p>"But you haven't seen any of my marvellous
jewellery yet," replied their host, as though she had
spoken aloud.</p>
<p>"Don't be timid"—he was looking at them
through those horrid spectacles again, which laid
bare all their thoughts. "You know I am only
answering that knock of yours. Had you not required
an answer, there would have been no information
forthcoming. I should just like to show
you these bracelets I have here." He pushed his
glasses across his baldness and took two jewelled
golden circlets out of a satchel which hung from
the cord of his gown. "Other children have taken
great interest in them," said the Wizard slowly<span class="pagenum">[14]</span>—"in fact have worn
all the gems out.
But I've often had
them done up
again; and you are
both welcome to
them—very welcome
to them, if
you like. You see,
<i>they</i> are able to inform
their wearers
how to play at
'Birds, Beasts, and
Fishes' <i>properly</i>."</p>
<ANTIMG class="split" src="images/z037.jpg" width-obs="363" height-obs="680" alt="He took two jewelled circlets out of a satchel" title="">
<SPAN name="z037" id="z037"></SPAN>
<p class="caption split">He took two jewelled circlets out of a satchel</p>
<p>"We know already,"
replied the
boy and girl together,
now restlessly
impatient to
be gone.</p>
<p>"I don't mean
that tiresome educational
game you
were playing when
you were waiting in
because of those
few drops of rain.
I mean the <i>real</i> thing—to be actually the real<span class="pagenum">[15]</span>
animals themselves in the realms of the Birds,
Beasts, and Fishes. Only in that way can children
realise how much nicer it is to be one of them, and
to live a life free from the 'don'ts' and vexatious
care of their elders. Ah! <i>Now</i> you're interested!"</p>
<p>The Twins were staring at him open-mouthed.</p>
<p>"These bracelets," continued the Wizard, whilst
the ten catseye gems in each of them gleamed
curiously as he spoke—"see—aren't they beautiful—</p>
<p>"<span class="smcap">These Bracelets will empower the
wearers to become Bird, Beast, or Fish, at
each wish; to regain his shape, or her
shape, at will, and to live in any atmosphere—or
in none!</span> At every change of form
a catseye will disappear and return to me. With
the last wish the wonderful adventures will be
over, and the shape last chosen will remain to the
end of existence. All these silly animals in my
dwelling came at the last to seek my help as they
were dissatisfied. I did what I could, which wasn't
much. Of course I don't want so many of them
here," he added carelessly, scratching his nose with
his glasses, "though they do help with my experiments—they
do that—oh yes—but I always advise
getting experience first. They somehow got to
know that <i>as children under ten</i> they could only
pass <i>into</i> my <span class="smcap">Moonlight</span> and never <i>out of it</i>; and<span class="pagenum">[16]</span>
that my faithful <span class="smcap">Brook</span> would not see them twice.
So they came for help in their last shapes as animals.
Oh!" he added, pulling himself up with evident
pretence, "I helped them right enough! They
should have kept a pair of catseyes—I warned
them—and they might have crossed my <span class="smcap">Brook</span>
in some other shape than their own and changed
to themselves the other side. But somehow they
were not fortunate enough to manage that. Some
people are so thoughtless. Pray excuse me, my
dears, there's some one at the knocker," and throwing
the bracelets into a corner where they glittered
strangely, the Wizard vanished.</p>
<p>"Come away, do come away," implored Dulcie,
plucking at her brother's sleeve. "I'm so frightened,"
she whimpered. "Don't touch them. Oh!
I want to go home."</p>
<p>"But, sis, you heard what he said. We can't
cross his horrid brook twice whilst we are under
ten. Crying won't help," replied the boy sturdily.
Nevertheless, he looked terribly frightened himself,
although he patted her shoulder comfortingly. "<i>I
feel I must!</i>" he muttered; "besides, it's our only
way out of here, and get out of here we must, and
escape in some other shape."</p>
<p>Cyril hastily picked up the bracelets, put one on
his wrist and the other on Dulcie's, and taking her
by the hand dragged her right into the gloomy<span class="pagenum">[17]</span>
part of the cavern farther and farther away from
the hateful dwelling and its awful master. He
couldn't tell where he was leading her, but he ran
blindly on until at last there was daylight in the
distance. And the Twins found themselves surrounded
by haystacks, windmills, and other country
objects.</p>
<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Cyril with delight, "see how
I've saved you, Dulcie!"</p>
<p>"And a good job too," she replied with conviction.</p>
<p>So they wandered gaily on, laughing at anything
and everything in the happiness of their escape.
They <i>were</i> happy, anyhow; happy in their absolute
freedom. And were they not in the possession,
too, of the precious bracelets which were going to
lead them into all sorts of delightful adventures
as soon as they chose! They could talk of nothing
else—and babbled on of how they would cross the
brook as animals, and how they would be wiser
than all the other poor creatures, by keeping a gem
in reserve and change to themselves on the other
side.</p>
<p>Little could they guess of the troubles and adventures
that awaited them!<span class="pagenum">[18]</span></p>
<hr class="chapter">
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></SPAN>CHAPTER III</h2>
<p class="h3">THE BIRD-FAIRY SPEAKS</p>
<p>The children had been so busy chattering of fun
to come, that it was all of a sudden they realised
they were in a glade which looked quite enchanting,
and with so many daisies about that Dulcie
wanted to sit down and weave those they gathered
into a chain.</p>
<p>"Don't wait for that," said Cyril; "carry them
in my handkerchief."</p>
<p>But when he felt in his pockets the handkerchief
was not there. He must have dropped it. Dulcie
proposed that they should retrace their steps, but
sweet sounds of innumerable birds came from the
high trees around and filled the air—and they
stayed to listen to the concert of trills, chirrups,
gentle call-notes, cadences, and bursts of tremulous
song. And now, against the deep blue sky
hovered what looked like a cloud which suddenly
separated and descended, and the Twins found
themselves face to face with a most lovely being,
surrounded by a ring of exquisite little creatures,
who danced to the continuous music of the Wood<span class="pagenum">[19]</span>.</p>
<p>Cyril and Dulcie gazed at their beautiful companion,
who stepped towards them smiling graciously.
She looked like a lovely young girl.
Draped about her was a wondrous garment of
feathers of every hue. But she was strange indeed,
for her hands, clasped behind her, drew close
together two enormous wings which sprouted from
her shoulders and formed part of her white arms;
whilst upon her shapely head among her black
tresses was the aigrette of the peacock. Her
attendants had no aigrette, and their feathered<span class="pagenum">[20]</span>
draperies were of sober brown. They were much
smaller too, smaller even than the Twins.</p>
<p>"I am the Bird-Fairy," she said in cooing tones,
"and you are in need of advice. I can——"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z042" id="z042"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z042.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="403" alt=""I am the Bird-Fairy," she said" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"I am the Bird-Fairy," she said</p>
<p>"Not exactly, thanks. You <i>are</i> pretty!" stammered
Cyril, interrupting. "It's because—we
want to go our own way—at home we—" he
stopped in order to shake off Dulcie, who was
tugging at his jacket.</p>
<p>"If you please," asked Dulcie shyly, "what
advice?"</p>
<p>"It would be exactly contrary to the Wizard's,"
and the Fairy looked serious.</p>
<p>"Thanks very much," interrupted Cyril; "but
we do want to seek our fortunes—to go on our
adventures. It's a grand thing to do," he explained,
"specially for her—she's a girl. Besides,
we can't cross the Brook as children."</p>
<p>"Don't use those catseyes and it might be
possible; that is, if you are willing. Be warned!
Let me carry you quickly to the other side and
then run home," said the Bird-Fairy anxiously.</p>
<p>Cyril shook his head, so Dulcie shook hers.</p>
<p>"It's always 'don't,'" he muttered. "It's sure
to be all right, Dulcie," he said turning to her.</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" she inquired vaguely, with a
lingering glance at the Fairy, who had turned away
sadly.<span class="pagenum">[21]</span></p>
<p>"It must be if we keep that last change as we
arranged."</p>
<p>From the trees now issued forth sweet wood-birds
of many kinds—the air was thick with them;
they circled three times round the fairy ring and
then all flew away, and the children were once
more alone.</p>
<p>"Wasn't that beautiful? Ah!" sighed Dulcie,
looking after them, "I wish I could be one of
them and sing like them."</p>
<p>Hardly were the words out of her mouth when
Cyril began to stare about in amazement. His
sister was nowhere to be seen. Her disappearance
was so rapid that the earth might have swallowed
her up.</p>
<p>"Dulcie, Dulcie," he cried. "Wherever are
you? Come back at once when I tell you!"</p>
<p>Nothing stirred in the stillness except the waving
branches of the tall trees—and a little bird that
came and perched upon his shoulder and began
softly to trill into his ear what meant nothing to
him. He stroked its smooth plumage. His hand
touched something hard around its throat. He
parted the feathers and found—a golden circlet set
with catseyes, one of which was missing.</p>
<p>"Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's her!"</p>
<p>He was too flustered to talk grammar. "How
fearfully quick the change came about—only just<span class="pagenum">[22]</span>
a slight hint like that! I say! We <i>shall</i> have to
look out! I wonder how you like it, you pretty
little bird! I wish I could understand those chirping
sounds!"</p>
<p>Instantly he became like her—a lark. He
understood her at once, and the pair flew away,
singing gaily as they rose together, fluttering up
and up, soaring high and ever higher into the blue
azure of the cloudless sky.</p>
<p>Never was there such a blissful sensation as that,
flying heavenwards to the music of their own
making. Dancing at a party to the accompaniment
of a piano was mere ordinary child's play
compared to the invigorating delight of this new
experience. The earth looked like a map, and
they realised now what was meant by a "bird's-eye
view." After a time, still singing, they
dropped quickly down to earth. Then Cyril led
the way into the Wood, where they perched in
one of the highest trees; and they hopped about,
scanning their surroundings, and awaiting the
visits of other little feathered inhabitants whose
acquaintance they expected to make. In the
meantime they gleaned various scraps of news
from certain twitterings in the adjoining branches,
some of which they clearly overheard.</p>
<p>And it came as a shock that these twitterings
were mostly complaints about the scarcity of provisions;<span class="pagenum">[23]</span>
about starvation among the weak birds
who could not compete against the strong; about
the unfair scrambling for tit-bits which caused
grievous bodily hurt. Then a painful rumour was
discussed about poor little Mother Starling, who
had been taken unawares by a wild beast with
terrible whiskers who was seen to pounce upon her
and carry her off—and her husband, who still went
about vainly calling his mate and would not be
comforted. They heard how, in the hospitals
under the hedges, things were in a bad way—how
one patient was down with a broken wing, with no
hope of getting well in time to migrate; and of
others incurable, and resigned.</p>
<p>All this so depressed the two joyous young larks
that they flew some distance away, when through
the leaves they discovered in the tree next to them
nothing less than the beautiful Bird-Fairy reclining
asleep in the branches with her retinue of little
sprites in various attitudes all around her, their
shining eyes wide open, on guard.</p>
<p>The absolute silence proved too monotonous for
our lively pair. So away they flew again—miles
and miles away into the open country, enjoying to
the fullest freedom found at last, feeding in the sun-gilded
fields, drinking from the pools, bathing in the
sandy roads, and flying for all they were worth in
their youthful spirits. Life like this was life indeed!<span class="pagenum">[24]</span></p>
<p>Their happiness seemed complete, when a sudden
sense of horror struck them both at the
same moment, and hardly had they realised it
when they noticed something very large which
had been poised above swooping towards them,
striking terror into their souls as it came. It
was a sparrow-hawk, and death was upon them.
Instinctively they swerved out of its terrible
course, and commenced a series of short, zig-zag
flights, their eyes starting nearly out of their
little heads with fright. The enemy was strong
on the wing and remorseless in purpose. The
poor larks, with hearts fluttering wildly, were
becoming feeble and less alert. The next second
the hawk would seize one of its prey. The little
bird gave an agonised chirp, dropped like a stone
to the ground, and changed into Dulcie, affrighted
and panting for breath. She looked anxiously upwards.
Her pursuer, baulked, turned and darted
upon its second quarry. Too late! Cyril had
taken the strong hint, had also Wished, and now
stood in safety on the ground beside her.</p>
<p>"Come on!" he shouted to the surprised and
baffled enemy. "Come on now, and I'll wring
your ugly neck!"</p>
<p>But the bird didn't wait to accept his polite
invitation; and a moment later it was out
of sight, and out of mind, and the children<span class="pagenum">[25]</span>
found they were again alone in the beautiful
glade.</p>
<p>"I don't want to be a bird any more," said
Dulcie when she had recovered her composure.</p>
<p>"No, it's too risky," admitted her brother.
"When that big dark thing came in sight there
was so little time to think what to do. That
second, too," he added with a shudder, "when I
thought the brute had got you, was too awful!"</p>
<p>She felt quite important now at having gone
through such peril.</p>
<p>"I could never have imagined that birds had
such a lot to put up with," mused Cyril as they
walked on—"hunger and suffering, with the risk
any moment of being gobbled up!"</p>
<p>"There ought to be some one to take care of
the poor things," remarked Dulcie. "If it hadn't
been for the catseyes we should have been eaten
up and ended like that." She glanced at the
bracelet on her wrist and added, with a timid
look at her brother, "It seems safer as we are."</p>
<p>"Bosh!" he rejoined. "We want adventures.
That's what we're going for—and freedom. We
had a ripping time as larks—till the end. It certainly
wasn't very comfortable then."</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[26]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></SPAN>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<p class="h3">THE LOST CATSEYE</p>
<p>Something was in their path; the Twins stooped
to examine it and found it to be a Hedgehog
standing on its hind legs, motionless, as though
waiting for somebody, and a smile was upon the
face of that Hedgehog. All at once a Porcupine
sprung up beside it, as if out of the earth, and
the two appeared on the very best of terms.</p>
<p>"I <i>must</i> get to know what they are talking
about," exclaimed Dulcie. "They seem to me to
be arguing about something interesting. Oh, I
do wish I could be all ears and understand them!
If only I were something as small as a mole!"
Before Cyril could remonstrate a mole she was,
went off blindly, and was quickly lost to view
amongst the thick brushwood.</p>
<p>"I say! I do call that <i>mean</i>," he complained.
"Without even so much as asking my advice
or saying good-bye. It's silly to become a stupid
mole; it's a waste of a catseye. And all on account
of a beastly spikey hedgehog and a beastly<span class="pagenum">[27]</span>
prickly porcupine. Halloa! Wherever have you
all got to?"</p>
<p>Out of humour, he looked right and left. They
were nowhere to be seen. "I hope she will soon
come to her senses!" he muttered. "It isn't
much fun being left like this."</p>
<p>He lay down on his back to await her, and
kicked up his legs in the air as a pastime, whilst
the tall trees above him waved their upper branches
in the breeze. His glittering bracelet caught his
attention, causing his thoughts to drift on adventures
past and to come. He looked harder at it,
and becoming concerned he carefully counted the
missing catseyes. He had only wished to be a
lark, and to be himself. Yet <span class="smcap">THREE</span> were gone!
The two first—and the <i>last</i> one! "Could this,"
he asked himself, "be some dreadful trick of the
Wizard's—likely to occur at the last?" Cyril
turned pale at the possibility. "Or could that
last one have become loose and got lost?" he
pondered. If so, he realised that it must be
found. The thought about the Wizard worried
him. He was uneasy, too, about Dulcie, and sat
up eagerly listening for her coming, and wondering
what he had better do.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, our little mole had groped its way to
a hole whence could be heard sounds of a quaint
voice. It was that of the Porcupine saying pretty<span class="pagenum">[28]</span>
poetry softly to the accompaniment of a slow
musical titter.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I'm a brave and dashing Porcupine—<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Strong, elegant, and dandy;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And you a Hedgehog, bright as wine,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And sweet as sugar-candy.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dear Hedgehog fair, say you'll be mine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And wed the dandy Porcupine!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Dear Hedgehog—bright as currant-wine,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Take me—as strong as brandy,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be Mrs. Porcupine, I pray—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I've begged so often—don't say nay—<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Be Mrs. Porky, sweet and jolly.<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Nay—titter not,<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Or off I'll trot<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And straightway marry Molly."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>"Ah!" he observed after a long pause, during
which the Hedgehog had remained silent and had
never moved a quill in response, "There goes
Molly the Mole!"</p>
<p>Molly the Mole, who had distracted his attention,
heeded him not, but went and struck up an acquaintance
with the little stranger in the hole close by.
For some time they remained in close conversation.
It was not at all an amusing conversation, as Dulcie
explained later, and she was not sorry when the
danger of a horse's hoofs galloping nearly on top of
them caused them to run off. They got separated,
and Dulcie was glad to bring herself again into the<span class="pagenum">[29]</span>
possession of her own five senses. Peeping from
behind a tree, she saw Molly and the Hedgehog
walking off together, leaving the Porcupine disconsolate.
And then she beheld a young girl with
short red hair dismount from her horse, walk back
rapidly towards some glittering object, and pick it
up.</p>
<p>Dulcie recognised at once the curious colouring
of a catseye. She glanced at the bracelet on her
wrist; all was in order there. Could it possibly
belong to Cyril? The thought became a certainty.
"Stop!" she called out loudly.</p>
<p>Too late—horse and rider were off.</p>
<p>"Stop! Stop thief!" shouted Dulcie as she ran
after them as fast as she could.</p>
<p>Now Cyril, who was not the soul of patience at
any time, had come to the conclusion that it was of
no use waiting any longer, and that it would be
better to be up and doing. So he got up and
pondered again and again what to do.</p>
<p>"Any way I'd better risk it and become a cat,"
he decided, "for like that I've more chance of finding
Dulcie, and of finding my catseye. It would be
useful to be able to see in dark corners. But I'll
search about as I am first."</p>
<p>He spent some time peering and searching in the
Wood. But without success. Neither Dulcie nor
the catseye was to be found.<span class="pagenum">[30]</span></p>
<p>Just then he heard a noise. He stepped behind
a tree, and peering round from behind it he beheld
not far off a young lady dismount from her horse
and pick up something. Cyril recognised it as his
catseye. He approached timidly to claim it, when
she leapt up and cantered off, evidently not seeing
or hearing the boy who was running, shouting with
lusty lungs: "Stop! Hi! Stop thief!"</p>
<p>Little did he know that his little sister, almost
exhausted, was further behind gasping out the same
cry—while big tears from helplessness and anxiety
were coursing down her hot cheeks. For the trees
hid the children from view at the distance they were
apart, as well as from the rider; and shout as they
would, their cries could not be heard by one another.</p>
<p>Cyril soon lost sight of the new owner of the
gem, and didn't know what to do, or where to trace
it, or, still worse, what had become of Dulcie. As
he came to a narrow footpath which branched off
from the main track, he went quickly along it in
the hope that it might prove to be a short cut to
somewhere. As it turned out he was lucky, for it
proved to be a short cut to a Town, and hardly had
he entered one of the streets than at the other end he
saw entering it the rider on her horse. He ran towards
her, but only arrived just as the girl with red hair
disappeared through the door of a large white house,
and the horse was being ridden off by her groom.<span class="pagenum">[31]</span></p>
<p>So Cyril sauntered on, anxiously meditating how
to get his belonging back. The present possessor
would never believe his tale, or if she did the less
likely would she be to part with a thing so valuable—and
then perhaps only for a hundred pounds. He
concluded he must take it—it was his—at least it
was more his than hers, and his life might depend
upon it. So he decided that the best thing he
could do was to change into a monkey, climb into
the house by one of the open windows, grab the
gem as soon as found, and escape as quickly as he
could.</p>
<p>But no sooner did the quaint little monkey stand
there than it was pounced upon by a dirty brown
hand, whilst a foreign voice exclaimed—</p>
<p>"Ah, ha! So dere you are, my leetle friend!
You shall not escape from me again so soon,
Jacko. Ah no!"</p>
<p>It was a ragged boy with a hurdy-gurdy, who
had caught hold of the little twisting, mouthing
creature and was already getting it into a miniature
soldier's coat with brass buttons. A ludicrous doll's
hat with a long feather upstanding was quickly produced
from his pocket, put on its head, and the
elastic slipped under its chin. A long cord was
whipped out, fixed to the red coat, and a sudden
jerk hitched up the whole arrangement on to the
barrel-organ in a twinkling.<span class="pagenum">[32]</span></p>
<p>Now Dulcie had also taken the short cut into
the Town, and was just going to enter a large
garden in order to rest her weary limbs after
her useless chase, when the boy and monkey
attracted her attention and she stopped. She
would have laughed, so comic was the sight, but
filled with concern at a rough jerk she cried:
"Oh, please don't. You'll hurt it. Do let it go!"</p>
<p>"Let go, signorina? Ah no! Me take care
never risk no more. No Jacko, then poor Pietro
starve. Just you watch him, then give poor
Pietro penny. Now, Jacko, we're 'ungry."</p>
<p>Had Dulcie only known the monkey was not
Jacko, but Cyril, she would have been still more
concerned. The lad turned the handle of the
instrument, and to its cracked tune she was
amused to see the monkey take off its hat with a
jerky movement, replace it, dance about, salute,
and perform other antics in the most approved and
undignified manner.</p>
<p>The boy pulled his forelock. After much
fumbling Dulcie found a penny and gave it to
him. A sunny smile was on his swarthy face as
he said "Grazia!" He kissed the monkey affectionately,
and putting it in the inner pocket of
his ragged coat, moved away.</p>
<p>And the monkey, peering out of that pocket,
blinked twice so meaningly at Dulcie that she<span class="pagenum">[33]</span>
stood there and gazed after it, puzzled, whilst the
boy trudged off whistling. Dulcie then found a
shady seat, and having nothing better or more
hopeful to do, determined to rest there. Now,
however, that she had leisure to think it over,
she didn't at all like the loss of that gem. Supposing
by some trick or other of that horrid
Wizard all the rest should drop out and not be
found—at some dreadfully awkward moment!
What would poor Cyril do? And she also might
come to be in the same plight! These thoughts
were too horrible! So she began saying some
poetry she had learnt in order to keep her mind
on other matters.</p>
<p>She wasn't enjoying herself very much. The
time seemed endless, and a neighbouring clock
which chimed the quarters didn't help it to pass
any faster; and the longer Dulcie waited, the
more anxious she became. She gave up reciting
poetry, or what stood for poetry, and her only
thought became: "If only Cyril would come
back!" In her fear she began to give up hope of
his ever coming back at all, and decided to try
and discover if there were such a thing as a
policeman about, to whom she might confide her
troubles.</p>
<p>Suddenly there arose a hullabaloo. Such a barking
and rushing, and the next moment a large<span class="pagenum">[34]</span>
black cat sprang on the seat beside her, frightening
her very much. There was a terrified shriek—a
gratified Wish—and Cyril found himself on a bench
next Dulcie with a great hound clinging to his
sailor collar at the back.</p>
<p>With a cry of fear she helped him in his
struggles to get free; the animal, astonished and
abashed, slunk away with its tail between its legs,
and the brother and sister fell into one another's
arms. Never before had they known how fond
they were of one another—for never had they been
so pleased to meet again.</p>
<p>"I waited so patiently," said Dulcie; she didn't
add anything about thoughts of a friendly policeman,
but inquired quickly—</p>
<p>"Do you know you've lost your catseye?"</p>
<p>He nodded and grinned.</p>
<p>"Have you got it?"</p>
<p>He parted his lips. It was between his teeth.
He pressed it back into the empty setting of his
bracelet, saying—</p>
<p>"I'd no time to wish sooner. I'll never set Towser
to chase our poor little Miranda again, you bet!
How horrid it must be to be a permanent cat!"</p>
<p>"However did you get it back?"</p>
<p>"Hallo! Hi!" was all she got in answer, and
the next moment he was pommelling into, and
being pommelled by, a lanky youth.<span class="pagenum">[35]</span></p>
<p>"I'll teach you—to shy stones—at a—poor
defenceless—cat," gasped Cyril, hitting out right
and left, his face scarlet, and his hair all ruffled.
How they did go for one another! First one was
down and the other on top; then the pair, all legs
and arms, were the other way up; then they rolled
together over and over, till at last Cyril had won
a brilliant victory before he allowed Dulcie to drag
him away from the defeated adversary, who, as
soon as he was free, slunk off miserably, with one
hand to his eye and his handkerchief to his
nose.</p>
<p>"I'm all right," exclaimed Cyril, in answer to
her anxious inquiry, shaking himself into order.
"That <i>was</i> a lark! No—I'm not hurt, not really.
Served him jolly!"</p>
<p>Dulcie noticed that he had a lump on his
forehead from the fray.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you won the fight with that boy,
but I don't know what it was about one little
bit. And, Cyril, aren't these adventures rather
too—too dangerous, don't you think?"</p>
<p>"Of course they're not, they're awfully jolly."</p>
<p>"Now tell me all about it from the very beginning,"
said his sister as they strolled off together.
So Cyril gave her a spirited record of his adventures
whilst she listened eagerly, anxious not to
miss a single word.<span class="pagenum">[36]</span></p>
<p>"I'll begin at the beginning," he said. "Well,
the funny monkey—me, you know——"</p>
<p>"<i>You</i>, Cyril?" and Dulcie gasped with surprise.</p>
<p>"Yes; don't interrupt, there's a dear. I quite
enjoyed my little performance on the organ before
you. But by the second and third time I had
to do it I got sick and tired of it. The weather
seemed to turn cold and made me shiver. Then
I got fearfully hungry—coppers were given me,
but no food did I get, and I felt I had had enough
of the business. The boy's pocket, too, was
draughty—there was a hole in it—besides which
I got the cramp. It wouldn't have been much
use trying to escape. Besides, the monkey idea
was all wrong, for people were passing all the
time, and, had they noticed a free monkey on
the track of a catseye, a crowd would have collected,
and perhaps that grinning idiot might have
gone for me again. I couldn't very well change
to myself inside of his jacket, nor during a performance
in public, as it might have attracted
attention. So I was obliged to wait for my
chance, which came at last when he picked up
an end of a cigarette and after begging a match
was busy lighting it at a sheltered corner. I was
on the pavement in a minute, managed to slip
out of my idiotic red coat to which the cord was
attached, flung off that absurd hat, and remembering<span class="pagenum">[37]</span>
my first idea I changed into a cat, calmly
sat down on the inner side of some area railings,
and peered through to watch the fun."</p>
<p>"Yes, and what happened then?" interrupted
Dulcie excitedly.</p>
<p>"Well, you never saw such a face as that boy's
when he found the monkey's coat and hat on the
ground without any monkey inside of them! He
said some foreign words and commenced running
about hunting for me everywhere, whilst I trotted
off before his very eyes. Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p>His sister pealed with laughter and delight.</p>
<p>"As quickly as possible I reached the big house
where I had seen the girl with the red hair go in
after she had picked up my catseye."</p>
<p>"I saw her pick it up, too," broke in Dulcie.</p>
<p>But Cyril went on: "The windows were still
open. I jumped up from the balcony on to a
stone ledge, and then by good luck right into the
bedroom of that bothersome young lady. She was
reading a book. We did startle one another!</p>
<p>"'Oh, you darling sweet pussikins!' she said.
'Ah,' I thought, 'not so darling as all that.'
And the next moment I was lifted clumsily on to
her lap and stroked and patted, whilst I looked
anxiously around for my catseye in the intervals—when
she wasn't kissing my nose, which was disturbing
and uncomfortable, and girls do like kissing<span class="pagenum">[38]</span>
so. Then I saw it gleaming on the dressing-table
close to the window all the time, and I became impatient.
The stupid baby language and kisses
bothered me, so I stopped it by giving her face an
ugly scratch."</p>
<p>"Oh, how rude!" exclaimed Dulcie, shocked.</p>
<p>"Whereupon she gave me an angry slap, which
I didn't feel a bit through the fur, and pushed me
down roughly on the floor, looked at her face in
the glass, and then I heard her bathing it in the
dressing-room. I say! had I changed then,
wouldn't she have been jolly surprised to find a
strange boy in there! So, remaining her darling
pussikins," he continued with a smile, "I just
jumped on the table, took hold of my catseye in
my mouth, and escaped by the window before she
returned, and waved my tail in good-bye—stupid
things, tails!" With a laugh, which was echoed
by Dulcie, Cyril, grown serious again, went on
with his narrative:</p>
<p>"But just as I alighted on the ground a boy
began shying stones at me, which it was awfully
difficult to dodge. One of them caught me such
a whack on the side, and he laughed and shouted
'Hurrah, got him!'—Wasn't I glad when I saw
him just now!—Well, I was just going to change
then, when there was a great barking, and a whole
lot of dogs seemed to be bearing down on me. I<span class="pagenum">[39]</span>
thought I'd make myself scarce, so I tore off, and
as they were on my track I simply cut. I flew
along the muddy streets with the whole pack at
my heels, with shouts and laughter ringing in my
ears, scampering past them, past houses, past traffic,
whizzing along for my life with the barking din
and the pattering feet always following. At last,
as a last hope, I dodged round, doubled back, the
noise stopped, and I took refuge in a quiet garden,
awfully puffed, and jumped on a seat next some one
resting there."</p>
<p>"Me," said Dulcie, with a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>"Yes, I found it was you, Sis. I Wished, and
you're a trump, for I was tired, and you rid me
of that big dog." Dulcie glowed with pride and
pleasure at that. "I never knew, though, that
that brute was following me. Fortunately for me
he gripped hold of the bracelet round my neck."</p>
<p>"How well you tell a story, Cyril," she said simply.</p>
<p>Cyril smiled contentedly. "That's nothing."</p>
<p>Then she inquired anxiously: "Do you think
it was the Wizard's trick, that losing of the stone?"</p>
<p>"P'raps," replied Cyril musingly. "He's quite
ugly enough for anything. But I don't think so,"
he added reassuringly; "it must have been an accident—got
loose, or something."</p>
<p>Dulcie's mind being eased, she then told her
own story as a mole. She couldn't remember the<span class="pagenum">[40]</span>
Porcupine's verses exactly, but she repeated what
she could, and they had a good laugh over them;—before,
she had been blind to the fun in them. "I
repeated them to Molly," continued Dulcie, rippling
over with fun, "and she was so offended she vowed
she'd never marry him. So I cured him of his
vanity—and serve him right!"</p>
<p>"But why did the Hedgehog titter? That was
what you wanted to find out, wasn't it?" asked
Cyril.</p>
<p>"I suppose it was expecting the Porcupine's
verses."</p>
<p>"Suppose?"</p>
<p>"I forgot to ask."</p>
<p>Cyril expressed his opinion that she had been
a softy, that those creatures weren't worth while
chumming up with, and they couldn't have much
sense, and it didn't matter, after all, what they
thought or did.</p>
<p>"I shan't tell you any more, then," replied Dulcie,
offended.</p>
<p>"Yes, do," begged Cyril, curious to know the
end. So after he had begged three times, she gave
way, and informed him she was glad never to have
been born a mole, for Molly was in terribly low
spirits and had apologised for them, but the reason
was because all her family's skins had been taken
off their backs in order to keep fashionable ladies<span class="pagenum">[41]</span>
from taking cold—as these ladies seemed to think
that it was a prettier and warmer skin than their
own. And Molly hourly expected each moment
to be her last—and advised her new-found friend
to prepare for the same fate—which was all very
terrifying. "So I made haste to wish to be my
own self again," concluded Dulcie.</p>
<p>Cyril made her promise faithfully never again to
run off like a mole or anything else, which—being
only too anxious to avoid another separation—she
willingly did.</p>
<p>"The poor animals," she remarked earnestly,
"all seem so helpless. There's no one ever to
take their part or help them."</p>
<p>"Ah, you think that because we've not yet
changed into something really great," answered
Cyril with conviction.</p>
<p>"What a gloomy looking place we've come to!
I was so interested listening and talking, I didn't
notice the way we've come," broke in his sister,
gazing at what appeared like a Jungle in front of
them. "Surprising how we got here, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"I never noticed either, but it'll do beautifully,"
replied the boy, quite satisfied.</p>
<p>"But it doesn't seem very nice to be a Beast,"
argued Dulcie reflectively, her thoughts harking
back; "somehow it's so unpeaceful."</p>
<p>"I tell you that's because we haven't tried<span class="pagenum">[42]</span>
anything great," repeated her brother with an
emphatic movement of his hand and a decided
toss of his head. "<i>If</i>," he said, and hesitated—"<i>if</i>
we were lions" (he waited, then finding they were
both as they were he went on, reassured), "then
we would know what it is to rule everybody, keep
our friends in order, and eat up our enemies."</p>
<p>"But I don't want to eat up any one," protested
Dulcie. "I think it would be very disagreeable."</p>
<p>"I should think it must taste rather nice—<i>they</i>
like it. Besides, one never knows till one tries,"
remarked her brother. "I want to be a <i>lion</i>!!"</p>
<p>At once the King of Beasts confronted Dulcie.
With a shriek she tore away as fast as her small
feet could scamper. Then she changed her mind.
And as a lioness, full of courage, she rejoined him.</p>
<p>Grand beasts they were as they bounded into
the Jungle with a mighty roar. Startled creatures
hurried out of their path, and the very landscape
appeared insignificant in their presence. Monarchs
of all they surveyed! This at last was splendid
freedom.</p>
<p>At a river, sparkling like glass in the burning
sun, they stopped and slaked their thirst, lapping
up the water greedily. Then they turned again
into the tangle of vegetation and laid themselves
down to rest.</p>
<p>Purring with delight in the hot sunshine, they<span class="pagenum">[43]</span>
lazily lashed their tails. The lion was just dozing
when he was roused by something heavy and strong
winding itself in great coils around his limbs and
body. He gave forth a roar half of anger, half
of fear. Struggle as he would he could not
free himself; it was a huge boa-constrictor that
was closing about him like bands of iron, and
was just about to crush him to death when the
lion disappeared and a little boy in a blue serge
suit wriggled away, sobbing out: "Oh, Mother!
Dulcie!"</p>
<p>Just then Cyril's eye caught sight of a rifle
pointed from a neighbouring tree. To his horror
it was aimed straight at the recumbent, lazily-blinking
lioness. His heart stood still with terror.
He could neither scream nor stir. Quite forgotten
was the huge reptile, which had jerked back
its head in astonishment at the remarkable disappearance
of its quarry, with an undulating
movement of surprise in that part of its anatomy
which might be termed its neck. But now the
creature was quite close to the lad and rearing
itself up to strike at him when—crack! crack!
crack! Bullets were whizzing all around. Cyril,
bewildered, stumbled over the dead body of the
reptile and fell to the ground. The next moment
he felt Dulcie's hair over his face as she pulled him
on to his feet.<span class="pagenum">[44]</span></p>
<p>"Great snakes!" exclaimed Lord Algy. Captain
Waring, who was eagerly peering through the
branches of another tree close by, laughed as he
rejoined, "Only one, my friend."</p>
<p>"Eh, what? Well I'm—" drawled his lordship,
craning his neck and letting his eyeglass
drop and dangle—he had stopped short in his
sentence, not seeming quite to realise what he
was. "By Jove!" he now added, "I certainly
thought I hit one of those two fine brutes; most
remarkable thing I ever saw in my life."</p>
<p>"<i>Didn't</i> see, you mean, my dear Algy," replied
the Captain coolly and not without vexation. "<i>I've</i>
seen a dead serpent before. Where have they
moved to? that's the question: we shall have to
track them again. A dead snake in the grass is
not worth two fine lions in the Jungle."</p>
<p>"No, my dear fellow, I don't think so either—I
agree with you there—it's quite the contrary,
of course," remarked his lordship with a certain
amount of energy.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Dulcie and Cyril, with white, scared
faces, were fleeing hand in hand like pixies among
the trees.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[45]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></SPAN>CHAPTER V</h2>
<p class="h3">IN THE FISH-KING'S REALM</p>
<p>It was only when they reached a meadow full of
wild flowers, and the Twins, worn out with their
long run, lay down to rest, that Dulcie remarked
with a sigh of relief—</p>
<p>"We never do seem to be so safe as when we
are us!"</p>
<p>"We won't be Birds nor Beasts any more,"
replied Cyril. "Hark! What's that snoring so
loud?"</p>
<p>"It's not snoring. I believe it's the waves!"
Saying which Dulcie jumped up and Cyril did the
same. The children found the meadow they were
in was on a cliff, and that below were far-reaching
sands, and in the distance heaved the glorious deep
blue sea.</p>
<p>They clapped their hands and danced with
delight, and when that performance was over they
carefully descended the steps cut in the face of the
cliff which led down to the shore.</p>
<p>Very soon their shoes and stockings were slung
round their necks, and they were running over the<span class="pagenum">[46]</span>
hot sand to where the wavelets came rippling to
meet their little feet.</p>
<p>So immersed were they in paddling that it was
a little time before they noticed some one sitting
amongst the rocks which peeped out of the surface
of the ocean a short distance away. A hand was
beckoning to them, and thinking it might be some
one who wanted help, Cyril declared he would
go to the rescue, and began to wade towards the
spot.</p>
<p>Dulcie, fearful of his going alone, and not
wishing to be left behind in the adventure, hurried
next to him. The current was rather strong and
the water got deeper as they went; but they
didn't think of their clothes (which were no longer
wholly dry), but only of the rescue. When they
reached the rocks they found to their surprise
a very quaint figure calmly seated there, who
motioned them in a very grand manner to a place
on each side of him. "Pray be seated. Good
morning!"</p>
<p>"Good morning!" exclaimed the visitors politely,
taking the places indicated.</p>
<p>"Good afternoon!" said the Fish-King. "Do
you mind holding my crown one moment, my
dear?"</p>
<p>Dulcie took it with awe. He was a very fine
gentleman indeed, and the two children couldn't<span class="pagenum">[47]</span>
help staring at him as he smoothed his hair in
silence. He was short and stout, in a costume not
unlike that of Harlequin in the pantomime, only
the colouring was green and blue. His goggle
green eyes and wide, down-drawn mouth made
him look comically like a carp, whilst the pointed
wisp of white beard on his chin and the four long
white hairs he was winding round his bald head
were not really an improvement to his appearance.</p>
<p>"Thank you kindly, my dear," he said as he
took his crown and put it on. It was beautifully
made, entirely of the loveliest small shells, and
when he wore it he looked every inch just what
he happened to be.</p>
<p>In spite of his queer face, the two visitors felt
quite at ease with him, and were sure that with
such a pleasant voice, too, he must be very nice
indeed.</p>
<p>"What are you King of?" inquired Dulcie
with a friendly smile.</p>
<p>"Of the fish," he answered, patting her cheek.
"I'm right glad to see you."</p>
<p>Suddenly remembering, the little couple at once
donned their shoes and stockings as a sign of
respect.</p>
<p>"It's very healthy, I suppose," remarked Dulcie,
"living out at sea like this?"</p>
<p>"I suppose so, my lady," answered the Fish-King<span class="pagenum">[48]</span>
drily. Dulcie liked being called "my lady."
"Except," he continued thoughtfully, "for an
occasional attack of shingles I don't ail much."
Then turning to Cyril he asked: "How's that old
rascal of a Wizard? laughing in his dressing-gown,
eh?"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry I don't know, your Majesty," replied
the boy, surprised at the question and the way it
was put.</p>
<p>"You will soon get to know me. I only hope
you may not be disappointed. You certainly
wouldn't have been disappointed with my ancestor."</p>
<p>"Who's your ancestor?" asked Dulcie bluntly.
"Was he a King-fisher too?"</p>
<p>"Not at all. He was Neptune."</p>
<p>"Where did he live?"</p>
<p>"In Imagination."</p>
<p>"Where's that?"</p>
<p>Cyril raised his eyebrows at her lack of manners.</p>
<p>"You turn to the right," answered his Majesty
patiently, with a gesture that way, "follow your
nose, mount a hill north of the Fore Head, and
there you are. See?"</p>
<p>The Twins couldn't think what answer to make—though
he seemed to expect one—so they gave
a little nervous laugh.</p>
<p>"Just see, there's a dear boy," said the Fish-King<span class="pagenum">[49]</span>
kindly, in order to change the subject—"just
see if you've got a copy of the <i>Financial Market</i>
about you, will you? Or maybe you know what
the Financial Time is? That would do quite as
well. Oh, beg pardon—I see you've no watch on;
pawnbroken, eh?"</p>
<p>"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean; I've
never heard of all that," admitted Cyril.</p>
<p>"But you <i>have</i> heard there's been another
slump!"</p>
<p>"What?" ventured Dulcie.</p>
<p>"In what? Why, in Seaweed, of course. Just
my luck. Fishy transactions never do pay, though
they always promise to. But," he added, rousing
himself, dismal still, "you must both come down
soon and have a cup of sea or something—it's my
birthday, and there's going to be jinks below."</p>
<p>"Birthday! How delightful!" said Dulcie.</p>
<p>"Why, how old can you possibly be?" asked
Cyril, "if it's not impolite to ask."</p>
<p>"Quite right. Let me see," said the Fish-King
thoughtfully. "Ah, now I remember. I'm just
several millions of years—it takes a little time to
fix the number exactly—and eleven days."</p>
<p>"That <i>is</i> old, Sire," murmured Dulcie as she
regained her breath, which had been taken away
at the idea of so many birthdays.</p>
<p>"Old? Nonsense, my lady."<span class="pagenum">[50]</span></p>
<p>"How can it be 'and eleven days' if it's your
birthday, your Worship?" asked Cyril, thinking
he'd go one better than Sire.</p>
<p>"Because, my Philosopher, I prefer the new-fangled
Calendar which puts one on eleven days;
in that way, when I'm told I don't look my age, I
know it's true, and not flattery. See?"</p>
<p>The children were not quite satisfied with the
explanation. Nevertheless, they were pleased to
find it the most natural thing in the world to be
getting chummy with a Fish-King.</p>
<p>"Now, do come below waves and have a cup of
sea or something," he repeated, looking appealingly
first at one and then at the other.</p>
<p>"Thank you very much," replied his little
guests. "But," said the cautious Dulcie, "sha'n't
we be drownded?"</p>
<p>"You both have your catseyes on, I presume?"
And his Majesty stared anxiously in their faces.
"Yes, I see you have. Very well, then. Sit steady!
Halloa there," shouting downwards. "Lift, please!"
Then muttering, "It's high time we went," he
smiled. His smile was so unutterably comic that
it was to a merry burst of childish laughter that all
the rocks descended as quickly as the tide rose
above them, and the trio, smiling still, found
themselves gently deposited at the bottom of the
Ocean.<span class="pagenum">[51]</span></p>
<p>"Wonderful thing water pressure!" remarked
the Fish-King. Then, helping them off the rocks,
he added with a gracious wave of the hand,
"Welcome to my Domain!" And the Twins
bowed so prettily that he appeared much gratified.</p>
<p>"Ah!" he said, taking them by the hand and
stopping still, "I see Fido. Fido, Fido!" At his
call a fine dog-fish came forward at a fast swim;
and its head was patted graciously, whilst its tail
wagged with contentment. "Now," resumed his
Majesty, "we'll go to the Revels;" and they proceeded
at a smart walk as buoyantly through the
clear water as through air.</p>
<p>The sea-scape was perfectly beautiful, but as the
Fish-King once more seemed deep in melancholy,
the Twins gazed silently around. They were
evidently walking along the King's Road, for it
was wide enough to walk three abreast; the sand
was so fine and glittering that it looked like gold
dust; the path was bordered by exquisite shells.
On either side were gardens of variegated anemones.
Here and there an old sodden boot lay about untidily,
at which the Fish-King frowned and looked
uneasy. They passed oyster beds, where, besides
oysters, all sorts of fish, large and small, were fast
asleep, breathing heavily with their mouths wide
open. Now and again a squadron of lobsters or
jelly-fish would confront them, and respectfully<span class="pagenum">[52]</span>
divide and wait until the royal procession of three
had passed through.</p>
<p>At last they came to a great object ahead which
turned out to be a sunken ship, and the children
heard the Fish-King say: "Welcome, my dears,
to my home! I hope your visit to 'The Billows'
will please you." They eagerly assured him it
would, for they felt certain they were going to have
a jolly time.</p>
<p>On board everything was most snug and trim;
and in the large saloon he led his two little guests
to one end of the long table, where they found
biscuits, tinned meats, jam, and other nice things,
which they enjoyed very much, whilst their host
looked on with a satisfied expression.</p>
<p>"<i>Now</i> will you take a cup of something?" he
asked—and seemed relieved when they declined
with thanks. "I'm a seatotaller myself," he observed;
"I don't drink like a fish, nor go in for cups."</p>
<p>"I'm glad we said 'No, thank you,'" whispered
Dulcie to Cyril, who nodded assent. "Why are
you so sad, Mr. Fish-King?" she asked when she
had satisfied her hunger, and she stroked his great
flabby hand.</p>
<p>He didn't answer for a moment, then trying to
twist up his mouth into a smile he said as he roused
himself: "I fear I'm somewhat glum for a birthday
party, but I've had so many of them; besides, I'm
<span class="pagenum">[53]</span>bothered about the slump! One would think Seaweed
safe enough for a vested interest, surely.
From all accounts, they must have been cooked—softly,
too, in the bargain! Can you make it out,
my dears?"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z076" id="z076"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z076.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="488" alt="Its head was patted graciously" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Its head was patted graciously</p>
<p>The Twins couldn't understand it at all, and
shook their heads quite emphatically over the
matter.</p>
<p>"Now, let's go abaft," suggested his Majesty.
He rose, and looked at them with a ray of cheerfulness.
"We'll watch the Water Sports. I revel
in them when they are good—usually they go bad."</p>
<p>The children readily agreed. "It's lucky you
happened to come on my birthday," he continued,
"for you may be amused. Here's a list of the different
Courses," and he took up a Menu from the
table: "they'll race through them like old boots!"</p>
<p>"Do they race better than new ones?" inquired
Cyril.</p>
<p>"They've more experience," replied his Majesty.
"What is about to begin," he said quite gaily as
they followed him up the gangway, "is—let me see;
ah yes—'Turtle Mocked.' Now just look at Fido"—he
leaned over the side, the Twins did likewise.
"He's turning turtle!" And the three watched
with approval the antics of the dog-fish as he
turned his somersaults; and they applauded this
first item on the programme.<span class="pagenum">[54]</span></p>
<p>"Next Innings!" shouted his Majesty. "Fish
balls bowled," he read from the Menu. And taking
their plaice, a game of cricket began. "They think
they can play," he whispered, "and that is the way
I humour them, or they might begin to cry, and I
hate anything that reminds me of blubber. But how
can any one in their senses imagine plaice fielding
at slip? Why, they don't know cricket from a
bat—nor never will at this rate, I should think."</p>
<p>"Once in London, we saw such a lot of fish in
the big shops there," volunteered Dulcie in a burst
of confidence. The next moment she wished she
hadn't spoken, for Cyril was frowning at her and
shaking his head. She glanced timidly at the Fish-King.
He evidently didn't mind, for he merely remarked
with a sigh: "Ah dear! One of these days
my poor subjects will be sucked from the sea
through a 2d. tube, straight to Billingsgate—I
suppose that'll be the time for slumps and no mistake!"</p>
<p>"I suppress the Sole and Eel Course!" he
cried suddenly. There was a great stir in the water
at this intimation. "It's a dance," he muttered.
"Let's get on with the Cod Stakes." He put down
the Menu and threw overboard some nets and fishing
tackle. Then began a highly amusing exhibition
by old fish showing the young ones how to nibble
the bait without taking the hook, and if taken by<span class="pagenum">[55]</span>
some mischance, how to get unhooked—how to
avoid the nets, and other life-saving dodges which
his Majesty explained to the astonished Twins.</p>
<p>But hardly had he finished when a fat young
gurnet who was taking part in the sports did get
hooked, and clumsily extricating himself went off
leaving a thin red track behind him.</p>
<p>"The poor thing is hurt!" exclaimed Dulcie.</p>
<p>"Oh no," said the King; "a herring-bone stitch
is all that's necessary."</p>
<p>"I know how to do that," replied Dulcie, "but
I thought it was only used to make dress things
look pretty; I never heard of it for mending fish."
The excitement continued unabated.</p>
<p>When the revels were over, the little strangers
expressed their enjoyment of the birthday party,
and thought perhaps they ought to be saying
good-bye. Their kind host wouldn't hear of
their going yet—they hadn't even seen the Cable
which he was just going to visit.</p>
<p>"Who's won the prizes?" asked Cyril as they
got off the ship.</p>
<p>"I have," replied his Majesty.</p>
<p>"Not the winners of the races and of the
sports?" said the boy, in amazement.</p>
<p>"They can't expect to win the races and win the
prizes too. <i>I</i> have won the prizes."</p>
<p>"What have you won, your Worship?"<span class="pagenum">[56]</span></p>
<p>"I forget," he answered vaguely. "I've won so
many in all these years, and they get so mis-laid—for
all the world like addled eggs!"</p>
<p>"But you've only just—" commenced Cyril.</p>
<p>"Don't tease," said Dulcie, pulling at her
brother's sleeve. And so the matter dropped.</p>
<p>Whilst Cyril and the Fish-King were talking
about the price the crown might fetch were he
obliged to part with it on account of his recent
financial losses, Dulcie was so busy admiring
the beautiful creatures swimming about, that she
stumbled and fell before her companions could
warn her that the Cable was lying in her path.
She was soon up, and it was the Fish-King now
who was lying prone on the ground, but his attitude
was intentional; he was listening intently.
At a sign from him they did likewise. The billows
overhead were lashing up the spray, and
through the rushing sound could be vaguely
heard: "Number A. 1. Sea Power! Has that
nice little venture proved successful, Sire?"</p>
<p>It was the Wizard's voice. The Twins stared
at one another with startled eyes.</p>
<p>"No, thou Cabalistic One," shouted the Fish-King,
and got up with an impatient sigh, so he
didn't hear what sounded like the echo of mocking
laughter which the children recognised before
they rejoined him. "Some one's at the bottom of<span class="pagenum">[57]</span>
that business, I'll be bound," he grumbled. "I'm
afraid I'm too green, and ye gods and little fishes
alone know how I manage to be, for I've a fit of
the blues often enough," and he glanced at the
garment he wore. "Now come and inspect my
Workhouse." He led them away in silence to a
small lugger, also wrecked, commandeered by his
Majesty.</p>
<p>"What a lot of residences you have, Sire,"
remarked Dulcie timidly, realising the situation.</p>
<p>"One must, if one is a royalty," he replied. "I
have even more than the German Emperor. I've
one for eating in. One for thinking in. One for
not thinking in. And a host of others. There is
one which takes me eighteen hours to reach, where
I go at cradle time, where the waves hush me to
sleep with their lullaby—you have heard it—'Rocked
in the Cradle of the Deep,' eh?"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes," assented the Twins readily.</p>
<p>His glum face slightly relaxed, then he continued:
"It's always a matter of interest to me when my
ship comes home. I don't whistle for it; I squall
for it. Look out for squalls, for I feel restless, and
in my family carping is our form of humour."</p>
<p>Once inside the cabin of the lugger the Fish-King
took an immense ruler, and sitting upon
the table in front of a high heap of foolscap
began ruling one wave after another. Absorbed<span class="pagenum">[58]</span>
in his occupation, his mouth tightly drawn down,
he looked more than ever like a carp. He kept
on ruling the waves, heeding neither the little
coughs, the little fidgetings, or the little hints,
entreaties, regrets, or excuses of the Twins, until,
exasperated at his sudden and unaccountable oblivion
to their existence, they murmured broken
words of thanks for his past kindness, and, not a little
indignant, they walked out of the cabin, jumped
over the side of the ship, and swam upwards. They
met many a quaint creature, and then diving below
they rested in a quiet spot again amongst beautiful
shells—at last in peaceful calmness at the
bottom of the sea, alone with the heaving waves
palpitating far above them.</p>
<p>Talking over the strange conduct of the Fish-King,
it occurred to Cyril that the fact of parting
from them risked reminding him of blubber, which
he hated, as he had told them before, so he must
have preferred ignoring them altogether, especially
as he had work to do. But Dulcie thought perhaps
they might see him again when he was not so busy.</p>
<p>"It must be rather jolly being a crowned head,"
mused Cyril; "I vote we have a shy at another
catseye, so as to have a gorgeous crown and boss
everything and everybody."</p>
<p>Dulcie, dazzled at such a magnificent prospect,
readily agreed.<span class="pagenum">[59]</span></p>
<p>"I wish I were a crowned head!" exclaimed
Cyril excitedly.</p>
<p>"I wish I were a crowned head!" repeated
Dulcie with fervour.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z084" id="z084"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z084.jpg" width-obs="503" height-obs="423" alt="They met many a quaint creature" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">They met many a quaint creature</p>
<p>They stared at one another. No change had
come. Dulcie was the first to understand their
failure.</p>
<p>"Of course not," she remarked. "How stupid
of us! It's a Bird, Beast, or Fish we have to
choose, not a crowned head!"<span class="pagenum">[60]</span></p>
<p>So her brother, to change the subject, drew her
attention to an eel that was trying to turn head
over ... wriggling in a very upside down
fashion. Tired of watching it, they lay chest
downwards, and, supporting themselves on their
elbows, kicked up their own heels.</p>
<p>"Do you believe there is such a thing as a Sea-serpent,
little Sis?" inquired Cyril lazily.</p>
<p>"I believe there are sometimes, when they are in
season."</p>
<p>"Well, I can tell you there are <i>not</i>. And the
only season they <i>are</i> in is the Silly Season. Father
says so."</p>
<p>"It's so lovely down here, and you're spoiling it
all, Cyril, by arguing. I do think it would be nice,"
she added, glancing round, "to be an oyster and have
a real pearl! I wished I possessed a real pearl!"</p>
<p>"Shut up," cried Cyril. But to his annoyance he
found his sister already gone, and a stupid-looking,
closed-up oyster in her place, out of which he could
not get a glimmer of satisfaction.</p>
<p>"You <i>have</i> shut up and no mistake!" he said
severely, "in the middle of a conversation too."
However, she was soon at his side again, and looked
very sorry.</p>
<p>"Well, what was it like?" was his laconic welcome,
accompanied by a glance of disapproval.</p>
<p>"Not at all nice. I didn't want to remain<span class="pagenum">[61]</span>—although
I possessed a magnificent pearl. I felt so
horribly ill—as though I had some dreadful disease.
What a life pearl-oysters must have if they feel like
that!"</p>
<p>"I've heard pearls <i>is</i> a disease."</p>
<p>"Then how horrid of you to let me have it. You
ought to have told me."</p>
<p>"How could I? You were in such a hurry. I
couldn't do anything. You were just the same over
that wretched mole. I do wish you wouldn't go off
like that again; you know you promised you
wouldn't."</p>
<p>"I forgot. But it's the Wishes that go off so
quick."</p>
<p>"I say! Where was your bracelet, Dulcie, when
you were an oyster?"</p>
<p>"Don't know," she answered, pondering. "I
s'pose it must have melted. Oh yes, of course I remember—it
had grown very small, and formed a sort
of little boundary all round me inside my shell; it's
here all right now. I can't think—let me see, what
were we talking about before I went away? There
was something I was going to tell you. What <i>were</i>
we talking about, Cyril?"</p>
<p>"Sea-serpents."</p>
<p>"Oh yes. Well, I was going to tell you, there
must be Sea-serpents, 'cos you remember it being in
the papers and our seeing a picture of one."<span class="pagenum">[62]</span></p>
<p>"But that was all stuff and nonsense."</p>
<p>"No it wasn't."</p>
<p>"Well, look here, we'll soon find out, little Duffer.
I wish I were a Sea-serpent!"</p>
<p>"I'm not a Duffer, after all," was Dulcie's first
thought as Cyril vanished into what looked like the
end of a wriggling tail—a tail so long that it stretched
right out of view, and she realised this must be part
of her own brother. It was slowly moving away.</p>
<p>"Don't go and leave me," she cried appealingly,
clutching hold of the great scaly thing. But it moved
quicker, dragging her along. So, in her anxiety she
clambered on top of it, sat down, and found to her
surprise that its undulating movement of progress
formed a regular switchback, and that she was travelling
along its back towards its head in a most pleasant
and delightful manner.</p>
<p>"What a funny thing to happen!" And she
laughed. "But whatever will occur when I get to
the end! And what yards and yards of him there
seem to be!"</p>
<p>All this she wondered and heaps more, till at last
she saw the creature's huge neck looming high up in
front of her; when she got there it stopped her progress.
It turned its head round—which resembled
that of a giraffe—and its mild eyes looked kindly at
her; and what was most comic, yet comforting, it
wore a nose-ring of gold set with catseyes.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z088" id="z088"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z088.jpg" width-obs="323" height-obs="600" alt="What a glorious ride that was!" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">What a glorious ride that was!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[63]</span></p>
<p>She patted its neck affectionately; and then with
a mighty glide of long duration the huge creature
took her up, up, until, with her still on its back,
gracefully reclining against its neck, the Sea-serpent
arose with her above the surface of the Ocean.</p>
<p>Certainly, no one now would have taken them
for twins.</p>
<p>What a glorious ride that was! Nothing around
but the wild surging spray, the wind blowing in her
face, brightening her cheeks, and tossing her fair hair
about. Above, the clouds, dark and heavy, tore
along—everywhere movement, reckless, turbulent
movement.</p>
<p>What a wild ride it was!</p>
<p>Far, far in the distance appeared a dark speck. As
it came nearer it turned out to be a ship with broken
mast, broken by the waves which leaped over its
deck again and again. People were on it, for shouts
came from it borne along on the wind.</p>
<p>A fearful squall arose as from the very bosom of
the Ocean. Lightning played around the doomed
ship. Half blinded by it, and bewildered by the
deafening noise of thunder, Dulcie just caught a
glimpse of the Fish-King in the water near, before
burying her face in her hands to escape the blinding
glare of the second flash. Starting suddenly
at the terrifying clap of thunder that followed, she
lost her balance and fell off the Sea-serpent's back<span class="pagenum">[64]</span>
headlong into the surging waters. For some time
she was tossed about, sometimes swimming, sometimes
floating, enjoying the excitement of the
thing, knowing she couldn't drown, and expecting
every moment to see something of her huge brother,
when all of a sudden she found herself right in the
middle of a shoal of fish.</p>
<p>She was startled to find, too, that like them, she
had been caught in a large net from which, swim
and search as she would, she could find no means
of escape. Restlessly with her fellow-captives she
turned this way and that in vain hope of freedom.
She knew she must be adding to the salt water
around, for she felt so miserably helpless and lonely,
and a heavy sob now and again escaped her. Here
indeed was a lack of freedom and no mistake, for
the poor fish as well as for herself! Never, never
again, she said to herself, would she beg for fish for
tea if this was what they had to endure. Round
and round inside the net she swam, backwards, forwards,
upwards, downwards—no outlet was there.
If only she could find the way she got in! The
thread was so hard and strong, too, that she could
do nothing, tear at it with her little hands as she
would. She had nothing sharp about her either,
not even a pin.</p>
<p>The sea became calmer by degrees, but Dulcie's
anxiety grew, and her impatience with it, till the<span class="pagenum">[65]</span>
sound of men's voices from above raised her excitement
to fever pitch.</p>
<p>"Oh dear, oh dear! It must be the fisher
people!" And the thought that the little swimming
creatures darting about in terrified jerks
would soon be motionless for ever, helped to increase
her distress.</p>
<p>"Hold hard, Bill. Ain't it heavy!" said a gruff
voice.</p>
<p>"My missus won't be sorry," answered his mate.</p>
<p>The net was actually being hauled up, and Dulcie,
beating against it with her arms and struggling
hard, was being hauled up with it.</p>
<p>Her sleeve had got rucked up—the catseyes
glistened.</p>
<p>"I wish—oh what? I can't think—to be something
very small indeed—oh quick!"</p>
<p>No change occurred. She could now see the
boat and the men's stooping figures.</p>
<p>"Oh please, I want to change—I want to be
one of—no, I forgot, they can't get out either—I
wish I were a—a——"</p>
<p>"Holy St. Patrick!"</p>
<p>"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed both men,
glancing down at her.</p>
<p>"—A periwinkle!" gasped Dulcie faintly.</p>
<p>The next second the little girl disappeared from
their view and the fishermen rubbed their eyes and<span class="pagenum">[66]</span>
stared at one another with their mouths open. The
big fishes and little were quick to seize that golden
opportunity of their captors' careless handling of
the net—and escaped, down to every jack sprat of
them. And with the gentle murmur of the sea
there mingled noisy and ugly words of baffled hope
and disappointment.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[67]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></SPAN>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<p class="h3">THE MYSTERY OF THE CRAB</p>
<p>At the base of that Cliff where the wild flowers
grew, the golden sands were still bathed in hot
sunshine, and roughly caressed by the incoming
waves. Upon the crest of one of these a Periwinkle
was borne, and tossed, and flung, until it
was landed high and wet on a soft bed of seaweed.
But not for long—for very soon a little girl arose
from that bed of seaweed, smoothed back her
clinging hair, and cried out with joy as she recognised
her surroundings. It was Dulcie, glad to be
herself once more, and on the same beautiful sands
again; and her first thought was of course for
Cyril.</p>
<p>She was dripping wet. To wipe her face she
took out her handkerchief, which of course was wet
also. In order to dry it she tied it to a piece of
stick; thus it could serve as a flag, too, which she
could wave to attract Cyril if he were about that
coast, and show him where she was.</p>
<p>Remembering that, according to some wiseheads,
sea water kindly gives no chills, she had no<span class="pagenum">[68]</span>
fear for herself; so she lay down upon a patch of
nice warm pebbles, of which she took a handful,
and began idly throwing them one by one into the
tide, which was running up to her feet faster than
it retreated at the ebbing of the waves.</p>
<p>She was beginning to tire of this pastime when—plash!
the last stone she threw fell plump into a
sandy pool, out of which there hurried an enormous
Crab. Dulcie was frightened, for the ugly creature
had espied his disturber and was coming towards
her at a quick amble, sideways. She turned and
fled towards the Cliff, and a turn of the head
showed her that her dreadful pursuer was not far
behind. Up the arduous steps she climbed, stumbling
every now and again in her hurry and excitement—those
steps down which she had tripped so
gaily with her brother. Again she turned to look
behind her, this time with a feeling that here she
must be safe.</p>
<p>But the great Crab was coming up the steps too.
Flushed and gasping, she arrived at last on top of
the Cliff amongst the wild flowers once more.</p>
<p>There, too, over the top appeared the terrifying
creature. It was seemingly quite fresh, and was
gaining rapidly upon her, for now she was quite
tired out.</p>
<p>She could run no more. So poor Dulcie turned,
and facing her pursuer, she cried<span class="pagenum">[69]</span>—</p>
<p>"Oh, please, please go away—oh <i>do, please</i>!"</p>
<p>But the ugly Crab never lessened its pace one
bit; it came nearer and nearer—so close that she
could notice how it was shaking all over; and how
repulsive—till—till she saw that it was wearing
something glittering around its body—a band of
gold with one last catseye and the others all gone.
It <i>must</i> be Cyril. Why didn't he change?
Dulcie couldn't imagine. The creature stopped
motionless, and tears were dropping from its ugly
eyes.</p>
<p>"What can be wrong?" cried Dulcie with a
sob of horror and fear. But she conquered her
fear now that she was persuaded it was Cyril,
and she approached still closer. She stroked it—actually
stroked it—and although it was just a
great horrid Crab the expression it wore was heart-rending.</p>
<p>"It's the Wizard's trick!" she exclaimed suddenly.
"Poor Cyril's last catseye won't work!"
She never thought how many <i>she</i> still had, for
she was weeping bitterly over her brother in this
dreadful guise, and she could hardly wonder what
the end would be, if this indeed were not the
horrible end of all.</p>
<p>"Oh, Cyril," she sobbed, addressing it. "Oh,
Cyril, how dreadfully changed you are! Whoever
heard of having a crab for one's brother<span class="pagenum">[70]</span>
If only we had remained Twins all this never
could have happened!" And she walked round
and round it, wringing her hands in despair. But
evidently the poor quaking thing was powerless
to give a shred of comfort, and its whole appearance
was helpless and hopeless in the extreme.</p>
<p>"It's no use stopping here like this," she decided
at last; "we'd better go on," and not quite
thinking what she was doing, she whistled to it,
as she whistled to Towzer, and they moved slowly
forward—Dulcie, red-eyed and dejected, and the
Crab following her at a side-way amble.</p>
<p>The strange pair had not proceeded far when
Dulcie musingly muttered—</p>
<p>"I wish I were a crab too, then of course I
should know all that has happened!"</p>
<p>Strange to relate, she didn't turn into a crab, but
remained a little girl as usual. She might have
sought the reason of this had not a sight arrested
her attention which caused her to run forward
with a cry of joy. It was the sudden appearance
of the Bird-Fairy, in whose outstretched hand there
glistened a jewel—a catseye; but how different was
its gleam to the one the poor Crab wore. "Take
it," she said hurriedly in her pretty soft voice—"and
listen: I have wrested it from the Wizard,
whose magnetic power succeeded in recovering
one unused, though he had tried for several."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z098" id="z098"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z098.jpg" width-obs="543" height-obs="580" alt="She stroked it—actually stroked it" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">She stroked it—actually stroked it</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[71]</span></p>
<p>"Why did he do it?" interrupted Dulcie innocently.</p>
<p>"Because he wanted to confuse me, and also to
add one more to his dreadful Zoological Collection.
Now replace the stone quickly and give me the
sham one—for it belongs to the red-haired young
lady, and is stolen property."</p>
<p>The child busily and anxiously obeyed her
directions.</p>
<p>"Stolen property?" repeated Dulcie in surprise.</p>
<p>But the Bird-Fairy had flown away and disappeared.
The Crab had disappeared too. Cyril
stood before her, white and trembling, and the
next second his little sister was safe and snug in
his arms.</p>
<p>For some time the Twins sat silent, huddled
close together on the variegated carpet of clover,
and cowslips, and poppies, and bluebells.</p>
<p>"That <i>was</i> awful!" exclaimed Dulcie at last.
Cyril shivered.</p>
<p>"You saw the Bird-Fairy; did you hear what
she said?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I understood what she said—I s'pose I
understood 'cos she's a Fairy."</p>
<p>"Well, what do you think of it, Cyril?"</p>
<p>"I dunno; floors me completely. All I know
is that I shouldn't like to go through that scare
again."<span class="pagenum">[72]</span></p>
<p>"It was very kind of her, wasn't it?"</p>
<p>The boy nodded thoughtfully and answered—</p>
<p>"Yes, and I wonder why she did it!"</p>
<p>Now Dulcie thought of it, he looked quite dry.
She felt his knees, according to her custom, after
his being out in the rain—he certainly was quite
dry. She said how surprised she was that he
should be so.</p>
<p>"How did you manage it after being in the
pool?" she asked.</p>
<p>"It must be running in the sun," he explained.</p>
<p>It had done the same for her, and her serge
frock was none the worse for the sea water. By
degrees they cheered up. They were so happy
to be together again on that lovely Cliff, with the
sea beyond sparkling so cheerfully in the bright
light as though it wanted to share in their renewed
gaiety.</p>
<p>"Cyril," said Dulcie, "I'm longing to hear what
happened to you when we were parted so suddenly
in the Ocean during that awful storm."</p>
<p>"All right," replied Cyril promptly. "When
I looked round and found you were not on my
serpentine back, I didn't know where I was when
you went overboard, and therefore didn't know
a bit where to search for you. I changed into a
crab so as to move about in a small space and
more easily for the purpose. I dodged the nets<span class="pagenum">[73]</span>
which were about—I had learned the lesson we
saw given during those sports——"</p>
<p>"I wish I had paid more attention," sighed
Dulcie.</p>
<p>"And was washed ashore," continued her
brother, not heeding the interruption, "right into
that pool where stones came whizzing around; it
was rather beastly. I'm getting used to have
stones shied at me, but that last one was the
best aimed, and caught me a good crack on the
back of my shell and nearly startled me out of it;
it quite startled me out of the water. At the
same moment I caught a glimpse of your handkerchief
with the blue border, and of you racing
off full pelt. I wished to change to myself—nothing
happened. I couldn't make it out. I
wished till I was red all over. Still nothing—nothing.
Then I had an awful feeling that it
was hopeless and I was in the Wizard's power."</p>
<p>"Poor Cyril!"</p>
<p>"Then I tore after you, shaking with fright as
much as you were. I thought you were too frightened
to look at me; and that you'd never do so
and never recognise me."</p>
<p>"But I did!"</p>
<p>"And you saved me, dear little Sis!" Cyril had
grown quite pink in the face, and was trying to
keep back unmanly tears.<span class="pagenum">[74]</span></p>
<p>"Did you, too, see the Fish-King during the
storm?" she interrupted, to change the subject.</p>
<p>"Yes. But he didn't get that ship he was after,
for I stuck my huge self between him and it, and
switchbacked myself when he clung to me, like one
of those bucking horses, so he had no chance."</p>
<p>"Did he recognise you, do you think?"</p>
<p>"How could he? I didn't look much like the
Philosopher he knew."</p>
<p>"How about that ship?"</p>
<p>"I was glad to see it right itself and drift away;
the cries stopped, and the passengers pointed in my
direction so excitedly."</p>
<p>"Perhaps they were grateful," suggested his
sister.</p>
<p>"Or perhaps they thought it was I who had
caused them to toss."</p>
<p>"But our host—it was scarcely fair to him."</p>
<p>"He didn't seem to mind. He simply dived
down and disappeared."</p>
<p>"Now, those people," said Dulcie, "if you saw
them, they must have seen you, and therefore"—with
a wise look—"therefore they are sure to
put you in the newspapers."</p>
<p>"What a lark!"</p>
<p>"And people who read about it are sure not to
believe there was seen a real live Sea-serpent, and
wearing a nose-ring, too! And then I s'pose they'll<span class="pagenum">[75]</span>
all be duffers, eh, Cyril? And it'll be called the
Silly Season!"</p>
<p>Dulcie laughed, and Cyril laughed too, but something
out at sea just then caught his eye. He
jumped up excitedly and began waving his arms
about frantically.</p>
<p>"Look! look!" he shouted.</p>
<p>Dulcie, kneeling by his side and shading her eyes
with her hand, saw that old clump of rocks again,
and upon them stood his Majesty the Fish-King
waving his crown at them. The tide rose higher
and higher. He made three low bows in their
direction—Dulcie fluttered her handkerchief and
curtsied, Cyril bowed his best—the Fish-King
made a final gesture of farewell, the Twins kissed
their hands; his Majesty put his crown firmly on
his head with a smack, and disappeared with the
rocks beneath the surging spray. And they felt
they would never see him more.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[76]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></SPAN>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<p class="h3">THE MAGIC BRACELETS</p>
<p>"How nice it is to be one's very own self again!"
observed Dulcie contentedly. "I don't think I
told you, Cyril, that a star-fish stared so rudely at
me and said something about 'a Winking, Blinking,
silly Periwinkle,' which upset me very much
at the time, but now it does seem absurd," and she
laughed. Then she told of her escape from the
net, and Cyril got very excited at her imprisonment
within it, remarking it was a jolly good thing <i>her</i>
last catseye had proved all right or she would have
remained a Periwinkle for ever.</p>
<p>"Oh, Cyril!" she exclaimed, catching her breath,
"I never thought of that—was it my last? That
idea never came to me in the net; I never thought
at the time to see how many were left. Why!
Wherever is my bracelet!"</p>
<p>"I say! Where's mine?" cried Cyril.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Magic Bracelets were gone.</span></p>
<p>The children looked at one another, aghast.</p>
<p>"I remember now," she exclaimed in awe-struck
tones, "wishing to be a crab so as to keep you<span class="pagenum">[77]</span>
company, and know the mystery, and I was too
miserable to think about the real Wishes—and
never noticed or thought about not having changed—and
oh! if <i>I</i> had happened to have one catseye
only, <i>I</i> should have changed into a horrid crab and
remained one for really ever and ever!"</p>
<p>"Oh, bother. What's the good of going on like
that, Sis?" said her brother impatiently, for her
voice verged very near a whimper. "Much better
smile and thank your stars you're only a girl. Now
what shall we do? You suggest something, Dulcie."</p>
<p>"Go home," was her prompt reply, wistfully and
not without anxiety.</p>
<p>"Yes, but it's all very well to say 'Go home';
the only way back must be the way we came, and
you know what that means; even if we can find it."</p>
<p>From Dulcie's looks she evidently didn't relish
the prospect. The very idea of the Wizard made
her tremble.</p>
<p>"I must say," continued her brother, "I don't
know how we're going to manage it. We can't, so <i>he</i>
said, cross the Brook—and you could see he meant
it. So it's impossible, unless we roam about till we
grow older, and then we shouldn't know the exact
date when we leave off being children under ten."</p>
<p>"We shouldn't know the date at all," said
Dulcie disconsolately; "we don't even know what
time it is now."<span class="pagenum">[78]</span></p>
<p>"It feels like tea-time," remarked Cyril.</p>
<p>"Oh no, the sun's too hot for that."</p>
<p>"Let's go through our changes and see if we
can make it all out," said Cyril; "that's the first
thing to do."</p>
<p>They went carefully through their various experiences
from the beginning.</p>
<p>"I counted there were ten in each bracelet, so we
ought each to have five catseyes left, instead of
none and no bracelets at all!" he concluded miserably.
And they were both full of trouble. But
soon, Dulcie exclaimed—</p>
<p>"Why, we <i>are</i> Billies! We must count five
more for getting back each time into our own
shapes."</p>
<p>Of course, there had been the mistake, and the
fact being brought to light proved a great relief.</p>
<p>"Still," said Cyril, "we ought to have been more
careful, and saved two for the end; then we could
have crossed the Brook as animals or something and
taken our own shapes again on the other side, as
we'd made up our minds to do."</p>
<p>"Ah, but perhaps we shouldn't have had the
power on the other side," remarked his sister.</p>
<p>That was a new view of the case. The children
were perplexed.</p>
<p>"Anyway, we're in a nice fix," replied Cyril.</p>
<p>Then they decided it was no use stopping there,<span class="pagenum">[79]</span>
especially as Cyril said he wanted his tea badly—so
the only thing was to find their way back, and
try and dodge the Wizard if they could. They
wandered off, not particularly hopeful, and very
nervous. Cyril thought he should know the way
once they found the Bird-Fairy's glade. Dulcie
took his arm, and they walked on in silence, which
she broke at last.</p>
<p>"I wish some one would come and take care
of us!"</p>
<p>"I wish some one would bring me my tea!"
said her brother.</p>
<p>"I wish some one would come and tell us what
to do!" sighed Dulcie, who had begun to find out
that it was of no use relying absolutely on Cyril
any more. "If only we were at home!"</p>
<p>"I'll try to take you there, so cheer up, do,"
answered the boy sturdily.</p>
<p>The sea breezes were gone. The Twins had
reached the Jungle. To give themselves courage
he whistled "Rule Britannia" and she hummed it,
but held his arm very tight, and every now and
then looked furtively around. There was no sight
or sound of anything living. Nevertheless, they
hurried on, until they broke into a smart run, and
ran, and ran.... They halted abruptly. Cyril
hadn't the slightest idea whereabouts they were,
or which direction to take. It was no use asking<span class="pagenum">[80]</span>
Dulcie if she remembered; she only shook her head
disconsolately. When they fled from the Jungle
before, they had been far too scared to notice anything
at all in the way of landmarks.</p>
<p>"We've got to get out of this and reach the
Town," observed the boy thoughtfully; "and then
we've got to get to the back of the cave."</p>
<p>"But, Cyril, you've forgotten that after the Town
comes the Wood, and then that horrid place."</p>
<p>"So I have. Well, it's quite impossible, that's
all—out and out impossible." His face was growing
very red.</p>
<p>"Don't you remember, Cyril, my saying how
gloomy this place looked when we entered it the
first time? Well, it looks gloomy enough here
for anything, so it may turn out all right, and after
all, we may be near to where we entered. Come
along—it really does seem brighter over there. The
Town may be quite close."</p>
<p>It certainly was brighter beyond. But no streets
were there. Instead, to their bewilderment, the
little travellers found themselves already in the
daisy glade once more. They were positively in
the beautiful Wood again. The first object that
caught their eye was something white. It was
Cyril's lost handkerchief which Dulcie picked up—it
was a brand new one—and tucked it in his pocket
at once.<span class="pagenum">[81]</span></p>
<p>"I say, isn't it curious how I've brought you
back so easily?" remarked her brother.</p>
<p>"It must be some short cut you found—by
accident," replied his sister decisively. And that
settled that. In the absolute silence which had
reigned around, a peculiar rustling now attracted
their attention. Dulcie hung back, and Cyril held
her hand as he advanced cautiously. They came to a
sudden standstill as, from a clump of trees, a tall
figure in a yellow satin gown emerged and confronted
them.</p>
<p>"Pray walk in!" said the Wizard, and taking
the boy and girl by a hand he led them—not
through the Wood and along the country road—but
somehow straight through the back entrance
into his Cave Dwelling.</p>
<p>"I'm so pleased to see you again," remarked
their host, smiling as he took off his spectacles and
scratched his nose with them. "I see you've not
found freedom yet! Ha, ha! Pray make yourselves
quite at home."</p>
<p>Out of his satchel he drew forth the two bracelets
in which were no catseyes.</p>
<p>"Used them quite all, I see!" he remarked
blandly. "These others, poor things, thought they
could change back the other side of my domain!"
And the Wizard laughed most unpleasantly loud—just
like his knocker.<span class="pagenum">[82]</span></p>
<p>"Please, sir," ventured Dulcie coaxingly after his
hilarity was over—"please, sir, do let us go home."</p>
<p>"But your brother—I'm sure he wouldn't be
satisfied."</p>
<p>"Indeed I would," said Cyril.</p>
<p>"Tush! Nonsense!" exclaimed the Wizard. "<i>I</i>
never say 'Don't' here—so you are going to live with
me and be oh so happy and free! free to do everything
I tell you. You would have been more useful
as a Crab. But now you shall <i>both</i> tend my
little Zoological Collection—they are not always so
still, oh no! You shall help me do my tricks. You
shall help me ruin that fishy old King; and help
me keep that Bird-Fairy in order till she shall rue
the day that she ever tried to——"</p>
<p>The Twins heard no more. Locked in one
another's arms they had suddenly sunk down in
placid slumber. The astonished Wizard stopped
in his flow of eloquence. He walked round and
round them. His face grew blacker and blacker,
whilst the Twins slept calmly on, Dulcie's head
resting peacefully on Cyril's shoulder.</p>
<p>"Well I'm blessed!" muttered the Wizard, "or
should be if I weren't so...."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z112" id="z112"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z112.jpg" width-obs="404" height-obs="600" alt="Taking the boy and girl by a hand, he led them" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Taking the boy and girl by a hand, he led them</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum">[83]</span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
<p class="h3">THE SPELL—AND HOW IT WORKED</p>
<p>The poor children felt as though they had come
under some gentle influence, and curiously enough,
though outwardly asleep, they were conscious of
the Wizard walking around them, pushing and
pinching them, which somehow they never felt;
and they were conscious, too, that he was troubled
about something. What it was they couldn't
imagine. He began to mutter threats coupled
with the name of the Bird-Fairy.</p>
<p>The Wizard was clearly not at all happy. Indeed,
he was profoundly concerned—for every time
he touched the children to wake them, a sensation
of cold spread over his hands which became rapidly
more and more acute until it felt like touching fire,
and he shrank back muttering and grumbling.</p>
<p>At that moment there was a great rush of air.
The Bird-Fairy appeared, and with outspread
wings she stood over the resting children, and, full
of pity, she gazed down at them. Then they knew
they were in her care, and they knew, too, that <i>they
knew something which might prove useful and precious</i>.
And they smiled happily as they lay there.<span class="pagenum">[84]</span></p>
<p>"What do you want here?" demanded the
Wizard harshly. "How dare you come here and
try to thwart me?"</p>
<p>"I have come to pray you to turn from your
evil ways. Let these poor children go," begged
the Bird-Fairy in tones sweet and pleading. "They
have realised how much their happy home means
to them and the safety there is in being taken
care of. Let them go back to it."</p>
<p>"Tush! Nonsense! What's all that to me?
Begone while I let you! I'm in no mood to be
trifled with."</p>
<p>"Show kindness and mercy for once," was her reply.</p>
<p>"What? Go! You remain to mock me? Remember
my little Zoological Collection. Which
of us triumphed throughout?"</p>
<p>"Don't boast of that."</p>
<p>"But there is much to boast about. And my
experiments have not stood still since that remote
period. Science has progressed!"</p>
<p>"You will not be merciful?"</p>
<p>A scornful laugh was all the reply he vouchsafed.</p>
<p>"Then know," she continued solemnly, "that
our Fairy Enchantments have also strengthened
with time."</p>
<p>"Is it to be another tussle between us?" inquired
the Wizard, smiling.</p>
<p>"It is. And I pray it may be for the last time.<span class="pagenum">[85]</span>
I have failed before. But this time I am going to
succeed. With the girl my difficulty was not so
great, but the boy has been hard to convince that
other creatures have troubles greater than his.
Others have returned to you through your craft,
but this little couple you were forced to go and
meet. You sought to entrap the boy as a Crab—it
was I who restored the gem and saved him, as
you may have guessed. And with that success
the Bird-Fairy's hour now has come! You have
failed to snare them as Bird, Beast, or Fish—your
science can change mortals to nothing else. And
now you shall fail to turn them to slaves."</p>
<p>Again the Wizard's discordant laughter was
heard, and he said—</p>
<p>"You certainly got hold of that gem, my dear—and
you evidently consider yourself in consequence
an apt pupil of that old Fairy who befriended you—worse
luck to her! had she but passed a moment
later there would have been no time to frustrate
me. My science would have been powerful enough
to change you into a mere Bird. My Collection
would have been the more valuable, and she could
not have made you into a Fairy besides; nor
would you have known enchanting arts with power
to torment me; nor would you have had any hope
of future freedom."</p>
<p>The Wizard paused a moment, then rasped out<span class="pagenum">[86]</span>—</p>
<p>"Were it not for your own salvation perhaps
you wouldn't be so ready to help the children, and
to dare attempt to triumph over me. But we shall
see what progress we have both made!"</p>
<p>"We shall see!" she repeated. "Touch these
dear children if you can. You find it difficult?
You do not understand it, eh?"</p>
<p>The Wizard, with a groan of pain, had leapt back
after another attempt.</p>
<p>"I soon shall understand it," he cried angrily,
taking up a bottle containing a green fluid, a few
drops of which he poured into his palms, then
smiled. "This will wake them quickly enough,
and probably never let them sleep again."</p>
<p>But the only result was a louder cry of pain
from him and a peaceful snore from them.</p>
<p>The Bird-Fairy looked steadily at him, and the
Wizard trembled with anger and fear. Recovering
himself he muttered: "You've got them well
under your wing. So it must be with you I have
to deal first. Ah, ha! I'll show you how Science
can outdo your paltry old-fashioned arts!"</p>
<p>Thereupon he took a curious box-shaped mechanism,
pointed it at the Bird-Fairy, pressed a
spring, and instantly the pretty trio became enveloped
in a halo of rainbow. The next moment
the wings of the Bird-Fairy drooped, and the
children awoke. Her Spell was broken!<span class="pagenum">[87]</span></p>
<p>He moved his terrible invention slightly, so that
she alone was encircled by the rainbow ray. She
stood there motionless like a beautiful statue; and
the Bird-Fairy was in the Wizard's power!</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z118" id="z118"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z118.jpg" width-obs="506" height-obs="420" alt="The wizard, with a groan of pain, had leapt back" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">The wizard, with a groan of pain, had leapt back</p>
<p>A few moments more and his triumph would be
supreme and everlasting. She would exist no more.
His evil heart thumped with excitement and glee.</p>
<p>A continuous and regular movement around the
cave, and an underground heaving and low, distant
rumbling arrested the Wizard's attention.<span class="pagenum">[88]</span>
He gasped and started, and the instrument he
held fell from his grasp and shivered to atoms.</p>
<p>The Twins were the cause. It was they who
had started the commotion. Unobserved by the
Wizard in his moment of exultation, freed by
him from the Bird-Fairy's Spell, they were free
to follow the irresistible inclination they felt when
they were under it. So they gently stroked each
of the animals around, and were charmed to find
that as they did so each poor creature changed
to girl or boy and vanished from its prison, whilst
the ground trembled and the rumbling became
louder and louder, as though some unseen power
was helping in the rescue. So quickly did they
run round on their task that at the moment when
the Wizard realised his mishap, just as he thought
he had triumphed, Dulcie and Cyril had done
their work. They started as they saw the Wizard
lying full length on the ground next to his shattered
invention, the rays of which were let loose
and playing like lightning all round him.</p>
<p>Then they remained rooted to the spot with
amazement, for just beyond was the Bird-Fairy,
who before their astonished gaze became suddenly
bereft of her wings and covering of feathers, and
now stood before them as a lovely Princess, in
draperies of silver tissue, and with a golden circlet
upon her dark hair. A happy smile was on her<span class="pagenum">[89]</span>
face, as with a farewell gesture she motioned the
children away.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z120" id="z120"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z120.jpg" width-obs="509" height-obs="437" alt="Lying full length on the ground next to his shattered invention" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Lying full length on the ground next to his shattered invention</p>
<p>There was a terrific noise as of a thunder-clap.
They looked back. Nothing but a dark cloud was
there!</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>"Come quick!" cried Dulcie, taking Cyril's
hand and running off with him; "there's no
shelter here. Let's get in before the rain."<span class="pagenum">[90]</span></p>
<p>And away they sped from the rocks on which
they had so often played, reached home, ran indoors,
and got upstairs just before the big drops
turned into a heavy downpour and came pattering
against the nursery window-pane.</p>
<p>"Are you children ready?" called up their
mother in her kind, cheery voice. "Come down
and have tea with me for a treat."</p>
<p>It was a welcome invitation. They were quick
to shout their thanks and to make themselves tidy.
When they entered the parlour, where the sun was
peeping in again after his absence, their mother
said quietly—</p>
<p>"I'm glad you've escaped the storm."</p>
<p>Later on, they all three sat in the gathering
twilight at the large bow-window watching Nature
going to sleep. The two children sat up very late
that night—and they told their mother such an
extraordinary story that she wondered how ever
it could have got into their heads; and wondered
where they could have read it. But they knew
they hadn't read it.</p>
<p>"Look at the bump on Cyril's forehead!"
exclaimed Dulcie, as conclusive evidence of the
fight. But their mother only shook her head.
Cyril often wore such marks of battle.</p>
<p>"And, little Mother, we <i>are</i> so glad to be at
home." She laughed. But they meant it.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[91]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_OLD-FANGLED_FATHER_AND" id="THE_OLD-FANGLED_FATHER_AND"></SPAN>THE OLD-FANGLED FATHER AND HIS NEW-FANGLED SONS</h2>
<p>Centuries ago, an old father—as old as one of
them—lay on his couch feeling that his end was
near. He was not surprised; in fact, he had
foreseen it as he had foreseen many other events.
And he was reputed wise beyond his years, and
therefore far beyond those of the people who
reputed it.</p>
<p>So he called softly to him his three sons. They
didn't hear him, being busy in different parts of
the house; and it never occurred to him to ring
the bell, because he was so old-fangled. He
shouted to them, and they came.</p>
<p>"I have three things to say to you," remarked
the father solemnly.</p>
<p>The sons fidgeted visibly; they had been
studying, were not at home to any one, and
particularly had not wished to be disturbed in
their work. They thought that their father was
going to begin another anecdote, and it put them
out of humour; but they were startled when he
said<span class="pagenum">[92]</span>—</p>
<p>"My sons, my end is near."</p>
<p>Each one replied with an endearing term—just
one, for they were not men of many words. And
they told him "it was only his fuss." That he
was "only a hundred, and didn't look as if he
were going to be cut off prematurely." "That
he mustn't give in and should never say 'die.'"</p>
<p>"I cannot argue the point," replied the old man.
"Let me tell you my last wishes as briefly as I
can, for my time is short."</p>
<p>They tried to dissuade him from talking so
much, but it was of no avail, for he protested
that it was their duty to listen to him, and he
insisted upon having last wishes as he had read
that others had had before him, and it would be
for the sons to obey and unravel them as best
they could.</p>
<p>Then the father, addressing the eldest, who was
ambitious and already past middle age, spoke as
follows:—</p>
<p>"My son, my first-born, find out the furthermost
summit of the world, and when you have
surmounted that, you can surmount anything."</p>
<p>To his second son, who was avaricious and also
getting old and rather bald, he said:—</p>
<p>"Sit patiently, and wait, and when you can
hear a voice that comes from no living throat,
and can see its traces, you will want for nothing."<span class="pagenum">[93]</span></p>
<p>To the third son, and consequently his favourite,
who was romantic, being better looking and naturally
younger than his elder brothers, the father
spoke thus:—</p>
<p>"You, my son, who are the pride of my heart,
the joy of my life, the light of mine eyes, search
the atmosphere till at your bidding it showers
down burning stars; then shall you go to the
beautiful Princess who awaits you, and live
without labour."</p>
<p>And the three brothers murmured under their
breath:—</p>
<p>"Poor old dad! He's certainly very unwell."</p>
<p>But he had not yet finished.</p>
<p>"Try to realise your ambition, my sons," he
continued. "I have shown you the ways you
should go. Then, and only then, will you have
earned that priceless jewel—Contentment."</p>
<p>The old man then composed himself comfortably,
and died a few years later, after a sharp
attack of senile decay, leaving many regrets and
unsettled accounts behind him.</p>
<p>When that happened the three sons were very
sad all day and all night. The very next morning
they called to mind his last wishes of a few
years ago, and decided to ponder over them, give
them the benefit of their doubt, and see if anything
could be made out of them. And they<span class="pagenum">[94]</span>
stuck manfully to their resolution, especially as
the creditors were hourly expected.</p>
<p>The eldest son looked up all the maps and
geography books he could get hold of, and studied
them until he came to the uncomfortable conclusion
that he would certainly risk death by sea and
cannibals many times before he could hope to
reach the furthermost summit of the globe.</p>
<p>The second son sat and waited for the voice he
was both to hear and trace, until at night he gave
up in despair. So he decided that the only voice
worth listening to was that of common-sense.</p>
<p>The favourite son, meanwhile, went for a long
walk, bent on success, and, unlike the others,
full of a new hope. Yet, search as he would,
he could find no spot where the atmosphere
changed into stars at his bidding, and he returned
home long after dinner-time disconsolate
to his supper of soup which had grown cold.</p>
<p>The next morning the three brothers arose in
disappointment and vexation of mind. They
murmured loud and long at having been sent
on fairy-tale errands in a world where no clever
talking animals really existed, or kind-hearted
inanimate objects volunteered to befriend them
on impossible quests.</p>
<p>As the first-born explained:—</p>
<p>"If I were to coax my parrot and ask him to<span class="pagenum">[95]</span>
help me in return for my many years of kindness,
as they do successfully in fairy stories, he would
bite me for my pains, as he always does whenever
I feed him."</p>
<p>And the second-born said:—</p>
<p>"If I were to fondle a pin and said, 'Ah, pin!
canst thou help me in my distress?' ten to one
I would get pricked, and serve me right for being
so imbecile."</p>
<p>"As for me," exclaimed the romantic one,
"were a gentle wolf to find me mooning about
the forest thinking of my beauteous Princess,
surely would he stop and, with a keen sense of
the fitness of things, he would not trifle with
politeness, but he would eat of me as much as
would satisfy his present need—perhaps even
more than he could digest."</p>
<p>And the brothers laughed aloud in the splenetic
bitterness of their three souls.</p>
<p>Another year went by. The sons had paid
their father's debts and made some on their own
account; so they held a council, and they confessed
that they had idled so long because they
were haunted by the rosy promise their father's
words held out, and, do what they would, they
could neither forget them nor yet find any solution.</p>
<p>Then together they pondered and thought, until<span class="pagenum">[96]</span>
one fine day (all the rest about that time had been
wet) they concluded that as they were not believers
in fairy tales, science perhaps might help them.</p>
<p>So they worked and worked and worked, each
with his own object. They certainly did not lack
brains, or test-tubes, or electric wire, yet just as
certainly did they lack money; and, but for the
occasional doing of menial work, they would have
starved and starved and gone hungry.</p>
<p>At last the eldest son solved his mystery. Now
could he surmount the furthest summit of the
world, for he had invented a machine which could
carry him soaring like a bird over mountains and
over seas.</p>
<p>And the second son solved <i>his</i> mystery. Now
he could hear a voice that came from no living
throat and yet could see its traces, for he had
invented an automaton that could speak and could
record its words with a stylus upon tablets of wax.</p>
<p>And the third son solved <i>his</i> mystery. He had
searched the atmosphere, and now at his bidding
burning stars were showered down, for he had invented
a kite fashioned on a wonderful wire, which
went through the air and drew forth electric sparks.
And his heart burned with love for the beautiful
Princess whom he knew awaited him, though by
this time she must be getting on.</p>
<p>The excitement of the brothers was great. "It<span class="pagenum">[97]</span>
is our genius we can thank!" they exclaimed all
in three breaths. "Our father, steeped in his old-fangled
lore, never could have foreseen our triumphs.
He never could have guessed how we should solve
his posers." That was their conclusion. Then they
shook hands all round, congratulated one another,
and went their different ways.</p>
<p>The eldest flew off, mounted upon his wonderful
air-steed, amid the gaping of the astonished
villagers, and his two brothers looked after him
wistfully until he disappeared far away behind the
clouds. The hopes of the traveller rose ever higher
and higher as for weeks and months he soared on,
exhilarated beyond all imagination. At last he
came to the furthermost summit of which his dear
father had spoken so solemnly. Over it sailed the
son as easily as a bird. When crack! the machine
broke and collapsed, and the unfortunate inventor
was hurled headlong into the sea, and every
moment threatened to be his last, but wasn't. As
he floundered in the water he looked annoyed, and
he murmured to himself:—</p>
<p>"There must be some mistake. Who can truly
say that I have found Contentment here?"</p>
<p>Meanwhile the second son had borrowed a
camel and gone off with his precious automaton
to the great city, there to reap the reward of his
labours. All the way he reckoned how he could<span class="pagenum">[98]</span>
best enjoy the vast sums of gold which would be
poured into his lap. And he came to the conclusion
that to gaze at it would give more pleasure
than to spend any of it, except just a little for
coffers to keep it in. He laughed aloud in anticipation.
Arrived at his journey's end, he unpacked
his treasure and set it working, and was
forthwith lodged in prison—for the city turned out
to be as narrow-minded as it was great, and it assured
him that he must be a wizard. He assured
it he wasn't, and proved that he didn't believe in
fairy tales, for he had not relied upon them for
help. But it was of no avail; there was nothing
more to be said. This disappointing ending to so
much effort and such real success encouraged him
in the conviction that in the position in which he
found himself he could find no legitimate ground
for Contentment.</p>
<p>During this time the favourite son had sallied forth
singing in search of the beauteous Princess. His
marvellous kite was slung behind him. He wended
his steps toward the only Court he knew of, where
dwelt a Princess good, beautiful, and unmarried—a
combination of charms of marked rarity. So joyous
and merry was he, that the squirrels squeaked and
scurried away at sight of him, and the very hyenas
laughed in harmony as he passed by singing, "Tra-la-la!"
in his blithe lightsomeness. Ah, how gladsome<span class="pagenum">[99]</span>
and thrice happy was that merry, merry
morn!</p>
<p>Now the Princess sat in the vast hall of the palace
turning up her nose at the stream of suitors that
promenaded in front of her, very bored and weary
at the continuous routine. But she never seemed
to tire of it in her certainty that "the right one"
would put in his appearance at the right moment.</p>
<p>She was a very spoilt lady indeed; there was no
one to gainsay her. Indeed, so spoilt was she, that
every night she would cry for the stars, and blame
the skies for being selfish and not sparing her a
few when they knew (for she had often told them)
that she wished to wear them in her hair. And
every one said how illogical it was of her, and no
one told her they were too large for practical
purposes.</p>
<p>One bitterly cold night, whilst she was sitting
thus at her open casement, bemoaning the selfishness
of the skies, and heedless of everything else, a
mighty hubbub arose outside.</p>
<p>"What ho!" called the pretty Princess. Her
attendants came tumbling in to her in their eagerness
to answer her summons.</p>
<p>"What's without?" she inquired.</p>
<p>Nobody knew, and tumbled out to get to know.
They rushed back and told her all at once that a
brand new suitor had arrived at that unusual hour,<span class="pagenum">[100]</span>
and would she snub him at once or tarry till the
morrow? It took her a little time to unravel what
was said amidst such a babel of voices.</p>
<p>"La! Oh my!" suddenly exclaimed the Princess,
her eyes riveted outside on the blackness of
the night. She could scarcely believe her senses,
for there, in her garden, stars were actually falling
down in showers, lighting up the figure of a man
who, with upstretched hand, was beckoning them
to come!</p>
<p>He was summoned at once to the royal presence,
shivering and blue with cold; but his romantic
heart throbbed at the sight of so much beauty,
and his face assumed a warmer hue. He was so
intoxicated with delight that afterwards he could
never quite tell how it all came about. As in a
haze, he remembered the Princess greeting him as
the one long awaited; he recollected her saying
that as he could wrest the stars from the selfish
skies, he could gratify her desire to wear some in
her hair, and bade him go collect them.</p>
<p>He explained his invention. She grew impatient.
He told her the electricity would kill
him. She shrugged her shoulders and insisted.
He declined to take the risk. Whereupon she
turned into a fury in her pretty illogicality, and
exclaiming that he must be the wrong man after
all, she flung his invention into the fire and ordered<span class="pagenum">[101]</span>
him to be flung after it. He took the hint by the
heels and fled through the window, far into the
night.</p>
<p>Not at all Content with his romantic adventure,
or with life as a whole, he enlisted and became a
target in the front rank of the army.</p>
<p>It was, of course, some time later that the eldest
brother—who had been plucked from the billows
by a fisherman who happened to be passing by as
usual—booked his passage home, and found on
his arrival that the said home had been sold, as
advertised, for building lots in eligible plots on
easy terms, to pay expenses.</p>
<p>The second brother, in order to secure his freedom
from prison, then and there smashed up his automaton
and trudged home, arriving just in time
to join his brother in being ordered away from
their former doorstep, though still held responsible
for the rates and taxes.</p>
<p>At that moment, too, the brother of the twain
was deposited amongst them, having been invalided
to his sold-up home for life.</p>
<p>So, in order not to trespass for fear of prosecution,
they all three sat down a little outside
the boundary line and recounted each to the others
their adventures and their experiences. It was
nightfall before they had done, and they really
could hardly help laughing. And then, after<span class="pagenum">[102]</span>
thinking things out, they shook hands all round in
silence.</p>
<p>For the prophecy had come true. <i>They were
content.</i> The three sons were now thoroughly
Content—to work no more, to do nothing more
for the rest of their existence. It wasn't worth it,
they said. Their disappointments were over, and
they were fully Content that they should be so.
The villagers, once more open-mouthed in their
gaping, and open-minded too, differed from the
inhabitants of the great city, and looked upon the
brothers as who should say "three wise men," and
took upon themselves the care of them in the workhouse,
and were proud to get them, and to show
them to visitors.</p>
<p>As to the beautiful Princess, she was changed by
time into an old maid, and still kept on turning up
her nose at elderly, rheumatic suitors as they passed
on their usual rounds.</p>
<p>So the old father was right after all.</p>
<p>His ambitious son had surmounted everything,
including disappointment.</p>
<p>His avaricious son had succeeded in having his
wants supplied for nothing.</p>
<p>And his favourite son could jog along as romantically
as the workhouse rules allowed, without labour
and without effort.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[103]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_LITTLE_PICTURE_GIRL" id="THE_LITTLE_PICTURE_GIRL"></SPAN>THE LITTLE PICTURE GIRL</h2>
<SPAN name="z134" id="z134"></SPAN>
<ANTIMG class="split" src="images/z134.jpg" width-obs="231" height-obs="307" alt="" title="">
<p style="margin-top:40px"><span class="hide">It</span> was Christmas Eve, and a
little girl lay in her little
bed, wondering what Santa
Claus was going to put in
her stocking this year. It
was hung up where he
would be sure to see it,
and upon the same chair
before the fireplace she
had thoughtfully placed
her clothes-brush in case
he might like to brush
off the soot from his coat.</p>
<p>The grate held but a few smouldering embers,
for it was late, very late—at least ten o'clock—and
Minna ought to have been asleep hours ago. Perhaps
she would have been, only there were so many
things to wonder about to-night, and one cannot
be sure of wondering about them when one is fast
asleep.</p>
<p>So after wondering about Santa Claus, she turned
to the stars, which she could see through the uncurtained<span class="pagenum">[104]</span>
window: she wondered if they twinkled and
winked like that because they liked it or because
she liked it. Then there was the moon, which was
looking straight at her in its own unblushing, beaming
way and filled the room with its light; and she
sat up in bed and watched it, wondering where it
went to during the day.</p>
<p>Now opposite her bed were three pictures,
coloured and framed. One was of a dainty
Columbine smiling at her companion picture—a
Harlequin who stood on his toes with feet crossed,
and his arms folded over his staff; and the pair set
her wondering what she would see at the promised
pantomime.</p>
<p>Between them hung Minna's favourite picture.
It represented a fine old moated house covered
with snow. On the white path which led from the
portico were tracks of little feet, manifestly made
by the little smiling girl who stood in the act of
passing over the bridge that spanned the moat.
She appeared to be the same age as Minna, about
six years old, and was dressed in a red pelisse and
fur tippet. Her dark hair peeped from under a
red, broad-brimmed hat with drooping feathers,
and her hands were hidden in a large fur muff.</p>
<p>Minna herself had just such an outdoor costume,
and when dressed for her walk she had often
wondered where the little Picture Girl could be
<span class="pagenum">[105]</span>going so gaily for hers. And now Minna wondered
that once more as she glanced at her favourite
picture, upon which the moon was shining so
brightly to-night, till, bathed in the bright light, it
seemed to stand right out from the shadows of the
room.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z136" id="z136"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z136.jpg" width-obs="440" height-obs="600" alt="The Little Picture Girl" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">The Little Picture Girl</p>
<p>There was a creak, as though the old wardrobe
wanted to stretch itself after standing still so long—a
funny little way furniture has now and again.
But Minna didn't think it was the wardrobe this
time—she thought Harlequin had done it. For it
seemed to her as though he had suddenly stretched
forth his arm and struck out with his staff. No—he
was just as usual, only somewhat darker, being
in shadow; and as usual just ready to do something,
yet never doing it.</p>
<p>But surely with the favourite picture there was
something different!—some change! It was always
morning there. And now—why, now it was night!
The moon was lighting up the old moated house,
and the stars were twinkling over its heavy, white-capped
roof. Minna looked for the little girl in
red—but there was no little girl in red on the
bridge at all!</p>
<p>"Of course," reflected Minna, "she must be in
bed behind one of those little dormer windows fast
asleep—for it must be very late."</p>
<p>This seemed strange somehow, yet it was only<span class="pagenum">[106]</span>
just as it really ought to be. She herself never
went for a morning walk in the middle of the night,
nor had she ever heard of any one else doing so.</p>
<p>All at once, from the distant steeple which
peeped through the white sparkling trees beyond
the bridge, came a muffled striking of the hour, and
Minna, to her increasing surprise, counted on her
fingers up to ten, and then there were two more.
And then, to her amazement, whom should she see
on the bridge in the snow, which had begun gently
to fall again—not the little girl in red—but dear
old Santa Claus himself, covered up in fur and
scarlet, trudging towards the house with tempting-looking
parcels slung about him! Now he fixed
a ladder against the thick, frost-laden ivy which
covered the front of the old house, and he mounted
it very carefully. Then he climbed up the roof as
easily as if he had been walking along the high-road
in the daylight. And then he disappeared
down one of the chimneys. Very soon he reappeared
without quite so many parcels, slowly
descended the ladder, put it upon his shoulder, and
walked off with it.</p>
<p>Minna's eyes followed him with the utmost astonishment
and interest. Of course, she always knew
that it was Santa Claus's lovely privilege to come
down the chimney, but she had never actually
known him to do it—and then the joy of seeing<span class="pagenum">[107]</span>
him come out again, evidently on his rounds, was
breathlessly delicious!<span class="pagenum">[108]</span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z140" id="z140"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z140.jpg" width-obs="394" height-obs="600" alt="He mounted it very carefully" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">He mounted it very carefully</p>
<p>All was quiet now—only the moon and the stars
and Minna watching over the slumbering house and
garden, about which the soft snow-flakes hovered
and fluttered. She had more than ever to wonder
about now. She longed for a peep—just one peep—inside
that beautiful house, to see if the little
Picture Girl was really asleep.</p>
<p>Harlequin must have guessed what Minna wanted,
for there is no doubt that he gave her a knowing
look (though it might have been meant for sweet
Columbine); and just as surely Minna saw his arm
stretch out and heard the rap of his staff upon the
picture frame. Then he pretended he hadn't done
it; but she forgot all about him, so great was her
interest in what she saw.</p>
<p>At that touch of Harlequin's the scene had
changed to a dainty bedroom. It was dawn. A
red pelisse and hat hung upon a peg on the door,
and a large muff peeped from its box on the shelf.
A rosy light tinged the face of the child who was
sleeping there in the old wooden bedstead, and
woke her up. The first thing the little Picture
Girl did was to look with content into her stocking.
It was very fat. And then, with a little
pant of delight, she discovered a lovely doll lying
on her pillow. First she hugged and then she
kissed it; then she laid her new treasure beside her,
her heavy eyelids drooped, and she fell asleep again.<span class="pagenum">[109]</span></p>
<p>And nothing stirred.</p>
<p>"More, please!" said Minna, by this time quite
at home with Harlequin. Again he gave that
knowing look, and did as she asked. A rap, and
once more she saw the garden. It had stopped
snowing, and the sun was rising over the old
roof.</p>
<p>Suddenly a little sweep appeared, swung himself
up by the ivy, crept stealthily up the tiles, and
disappeared down a chimney. In a moment he
reappeared with a doll and a fat-looking stocking,
all so quickly that, before Minna had time to clasp
her hands and cry out, he was gone altogether.
She looked at Harlequin, but he paid no attention.</p>
<p>"More!" she repeated eagerly. Harlequin's
staff then moved and rapped.</p>
<p>And there was the breakfast-room in the old
moated house. The master of it sat at the table
reading his newspaper. Soon he looked up and
nodded encouragingly at his little daughter, who
very seriously was making his tea. She nodded
back and smiled. But it was a sad little smile, and
her eyes were rather red, as though something had
happened.</p>
<p>Then the door opened, and, to every one's surprise,
in marched a stout beadle. In one hand he
held a doll and a stocking full of sweets, and in the<span class="pagenum">[110]</span>
other he held the collar of a little sweep, with the
little sweep wriggling inside it. Close behind
there came a tiny crippled girl, who moved painfully
by the aid of a crutch to the boy's side, and
laid a trembling hand on his arm. The brother and
sister were much like one another, in feature and in
squalor. Great tears were rolling down her cheeks,
and her poor face was no whiter with pain than his
with fright beneath the soot, though, looking lovingly
at her, he tried to appear brave.</p>
<p>The beadle noticed the little Picture Girl's look
of recognition at sight of her lost treasures, and as
he gave them back to her he pointed to the black
marks on the doll's frock, which tallied with the
little sweep's grimy paw, and then jerked his head
towards the crippled child in whose possession he
had found them. Then the stout beadle gave the
boy a shake, just to remind him of his wrong-doing—as
if any further reminder was needed!—and
made for the door, dragging the wretched
offender after him.</p>
<p>But the little Picture Girl showed so much
distress, stopped him, and looked at him so
piteously, and with so much kindness in her sweet
eyes, that he let go his grip of the collar. Then she
put the presents into the boy's hand, and pushed
him gently towards his sister. But the lad shook
his head sadly, and looked more ashamed than ever.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z144" id="z144"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z144.jpg" width-obs="420" height-obs="600" alt="In marched a stout beadle" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">In marched a stout beadle</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[111]</span></p>
<p>The little Picture Girl glanced at her father,
who had been silently watching the scene. He
nodded, so she pressed them on the boy, whose
eyes now filled with tears as he gazed, humbled
and grateful, at the beautiful young lady whose
generosity saved him from punishment. Meanwhile,
the gentleman Christmas-boxed the beadle,
who smiled fatly and went his way. Then, for a
moment or two, the picture-father's uplifted finger
wagged a warning at the boy, who hung his head:
but Minna could see that it was not so very
terrible, because, if the boy had not confessed his
fault, how would the beadle have known in what
house he had yielded to temptation for his sister's
sake? The little cripple dried her eyes at seeing
her brother safe, and was very grateful for the gifts
she hesitated to accept. But she had a right to
keep them now; and it was not her fault that
she was the innocent cause of her brother's
offence.</p>
<p>Food from the breakfast-table was wrapped up
in the newspaper, the big bundle was put into the
little sweep's arms, and the two poor waifs who
had entered so miserable were sent away happy at
the bright moment which had entered into their
dark lives, whilst the little Picture Girl, who for
the second time had lost the presents Santa Claus
had brought her, looked after the poor little pair<span class="pagenum">[112]</span>
quite content, and smiled as she waved good-bye
with her pretty hand.</p>
<p>Then the master of the old moated house wiped
his spectacles, which somehow had become quite
misty. He lifted up his little daughter in his
arms and kissed her, and, putting his hand into his
pocket, drew from his purse a gold piece which she
took with a laugh of surprise and delight, and
threw her arms round his dear bronzed neck.</p>
<p>Minna saw nothing more. She must have fallen
fast asleep.</p>
<p>It was very late when she awoke. The first
thing she did was to smile as she trotted off to
look at what Santa Claus had put in her stocking.
She had seen him on his rounds. She had seen
his parcels. Dear, kind old Santa Claus, who
saves up all the year to be the loving, generous
friend to little children at Christmas-time. Minna
smiled again as the thought flashed through her
mind. She approached her stocking. It looked
rather thin—horridly thin. It was empty! She
ran to her pillow. Nothing on it, nothing under
it! She could not understand it. Oh, Santa Claus!</p>
<p>She gave a big gulp, and decided to wait and
see what her father would say about it. She had
to bustle too, for the bell would very soon ring
for breakfast, at which it was her duty to preside.<span class="pagenum">[113]</span></p>
<p>"Papa, Santa Claus has forgotten me!" were
her first words after the morning kiss.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z148" id="z148"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z148.jpg" width-obs="418" height-obs="600" alt="Smiled as she waved good-bye" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Smiled as she waved good-bye</p>
<p>At this, her father pursed up his lips with a
blank look. "Dear, dear! Good gracious! 'Pon
my word! What a forgetful old Santa Claus.<span class="pagenum">[114]</span>
I'm afraid he's getting past his work. Perhaps,"
he said, turning to the window, as a tear was
gathering in each of Minna's bright eyes, "the
snow was too thick."</p>
<p>"No, Funnyums" (she often called him that),
"it wasn't the snow. I know he was out in it,
'cos I saw him."</p>
<p>"Saw him, did you?" he replied, smiling.
"Well, perhaps he gave all the toys away till there
were none left, and then, as the shops were shut,
there were no more to be had!"</p>
<p>Minna now felt sure her father was joking as
usual, and that there must be some secret.</p>
<p>"But perhaps, Minna, Santa Claus came to my
room by mistake," he added. "In fact, it occurred
to me that he might. He's getting short-sighted,
you know, and—we are so very much alike.
Suppose you go and see!"</p>
<p>Away she ran, and there, sure enough, were
Funnyums's two socks hung up! One looked
full, the other looked empty. She found in the
full one all sorts of good things to eat. Minna
emptied it quickly.</p>
<p>"I wish Funnyums wore stockings," she murmured.
Then she went to the empty one, which
wasn't empty, because right down in the toe there
was a gold piece!</p>
<p>Then Funnyums was hugged, and Funnyums<span class="pagenum">[115]</span>
was thanked, and scolded for being up to his tricks
again, and then hugged once more to make it all
right. All that stirring time he was quietly pretending
to read his newspaper—just as though he
really wanted to read it at all!</p>
<p>And Minna forgot everything in the excitement
of Christmas Day. That night she slept soundly.
The following day she went to the pantomime,
and afterwards dreamt about Columbine.</p>
<p>It was only on the morrow that she noticed
again her favourite picture, and then her mind
wandered back to the wonderful things that had
happened there. And as she gazed at the little
girl in red, who was going out so joyously for her
morning walk, it occurred to her where the little
Picture Girl must be going to—she was going out,
as Minna was, to spend the gold piece <i>her</i> father
had given her!</p>
<p>"Ah, she deserved it," Minna said to herself.
"I—I don't quite think I've deserved mine—that
is, quite so much. I should like to do something
for children who suffer and are poor," she muttered,
"like—like the children in the hospital." And
slowly, as she thought it out, she made up her
mind that the doll she was going to buy should be
a very small one, and that the rest of the money
from the gold piece she would send to the "Children's
Hospital Fund."<span class="pagenum">[116]</span></p>
<p>Seldom has any child felt happier than Minna
did that sunny morning as she donned her red
pelisse and hat, and took her muff from its box.
She paused at the door, and glanced at the little
Picture Girl, who was smiling back at her. "A
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!" said
Minna out loud, dropped her a little curtsey,
nodded gaily, and ran out.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[117]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_SLEEPING_BEAUTYS_DREAM" id="THE_SLEEPING_BEAUTYS_DREAM"></SPAN>THE SLEEPING BEAUTY'S DREAM</h2>
<blockquote><p>"She pricked her hand with the point of the spindle, and fell into a
deep, deep sleep."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And the creepers that had been climbing over
the castle walls for a long time, searching for the
turret chamber wherein the sleeping Princess lay—the
ivy, the jessamine, the briar rose—climbed
round odd niches and corners, as if all were curious
to see the lovely maiden under the Fairy Spell.
But the years went by and none had reached so
high, though one sweet little briar rose had not
given up hope, and crept steadily onward and
spread as it went. And this is the dream of the
beautiful Princess:—</p>
<p>She dreamt that she arose and wandered forth
out of the castle gates, on to the sunlit terrace.
Her attendants had dozed over their labours, and
she wondered at their laziness. The peacocks had
stopped in their strutting and had fallen asleep;
even the singing-birds in the trees had ceased their
trilling and hidden their little heads under their
wings. But the Princess did not tarry. She went
straight on, past the closed-up daisies and sunflowers<span class="pagenum">[118]</span>
and the drooping foxgloves, past the goldfish
drowsing in the fountain basin, for all around
Nature was hushed and had fallen asleep.</p>
<p>Without hesitation she crossed the meadow of
wild flowers, and reached the willow path that
skirted the sparkling river, and did not stop until
she reached a willow larger than the rest. Then,
bending under its branches, she neared the water's
edge. There an old wooden skiff was moored;
lifting her silken robe, she stepped into it, unfastened
the cord, and, reclining on the embroidered
cushions, she closed her eyes with a happy sigh.
Away drifted the bark with its lovely burden.
The sunlight turned to twilight with lurid gleams,
and pale green flecks jewelled the sky; the
twilight turned to dark grey and silver, and the
moon and stars watched her on her way. The bark
floated to where the silent river joined the open
sea; still peacefully on it went, over the bosom
of the moonlit ocean, onward into the night.</p>
<p>The Princess's sweet thoughts were disturbed by
the sudden stopping of her craft, which had run
aground on the sands just where the tiny wavelets
retreated shyly, to venture again and as quickly
withdraw.</p>
<p>Soft and balmy was the summer's night, and on
the breeze music came, wafted towards the young
Princess, who smiled and landed lightly, drawn by<span class="pagenum">[119]</span>
the bright strains which led her, following, to a
pleasure ground. Lights hung festooned in the
great trees, and in an open space peasants in their
picturesque costumes were dancing, and laughing
as they stepped. The Princess, from behind a tree,
gazed on the scene, on the glades and lake in the
distance—all mysterious in the night; and as she
listened to the laughter and the music, she knew
she had never heard anything so delightful before.</p>
<p>Happy at the sight and sounds, she moved from
behind the tree, and she saw a young man approach
her with great respect—one of a group who were
not dancing. The Princess would have fled, but he
was already close; and although his dress betokened
origin as humble as that of those around, he was as
handsome as a young god. They looked into one
another's eyes; then she accepted his invitation to
dance.</p>
<p>Afterwards they sat together on a mossy knoll
and talked low—all was silent around, and the
light of the stars was reflected in the glow-worms,
but the Princess did not tell him who she was; and
when he spoke of a quest on which he was about to
start, to find his unknown betrothed, who awaited
him in a distant land, she wept. Her sweet tears
fell upon his hand, which he raised to his lips and
reverently kissed them there, and she smiled on
him for doing so. But the smile faded as an old<span class="pagenum">[120]</span>
woman came, and, plucking him by the sleeve, told
him it was the hour to go. And when the
Princess was alone she felt as though she had
never known before what it was to be alone.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"... and she would be awakened by a king's son."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>How long a time passed by she did not know.
But again she saw the handsome peasant youth.
And her heart sank as she thought that her release
could come only through the kiss of some king's
son who could claim her for his wife. Then she
pondered no more, for she saw the traveller now,
far, far away, where she could not get near him;
and he was in a forest path, wrestling with desperate
fury with a giant who had barred the way.</p>
<p>Breathlessly she watched the youth as he
struggled in the brawny monster's clutch. The
Princess, moved by his stress, cried out in her
sleep. Then the rays of the noonday sun, redoubling
their forceful heat, shone forth with overpowering
energy. The giant, struck with the pain
of it, clasped his hands to his head, and fell backwards
like a log to the ground.</p>
<p>The Princess knew that her love was safe, and
by her fear for his safety she knew, too, how dear
he was to her. And she went on dreaming—dreaming
happily of what might be the future
shared with one she loved so much.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z156" id="z156"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z156.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="506" alt="" title=""></div>
<span class="pagenum">[121]</span>
<p class="caption">Then she accepted his invitation to dance.</p>
<p>Her heart fluttered as with foreboding of evil.
She beheld a range of mountains, and up the foot
of one of the peaks a peasant youth toiled his
weary course. But the mountain was so slippery
that his efforts were of no avail. As he gazed
round she could see the handsome features,
clouded by fatigue that almost was despair. She
saw that the mountain was glistening, and that it
was made of ice.</p>
<p>Then she felt the breath of summer. She saw it
lift the white pall from the earth—she saw it melt
the belt of ice, and as she looked the mountain
dissolved into water under the warmth of her love.
She saw that he was safe, trudging over the carpet
of cowslips, smiling as he went. She wanted to
run towards him, but he passed through a thicket
and disappeared from sight.</p>
<p>The Princess arose to follow him. But she lost
her way, and wandered on and on through a dense
forest, where nothing stirred but scampering hares
and startled squirrels.</p>
<p>At last, towards evening, she came to a path all
gay with glowing flowers, refreshed by their evening
bath of dew, and whispering to one another a
hushed good-night ere closing their eyes to the light.
As the Princess passed along, the strains of an
organ fell upon her ear, and she saw a great temple
before her. She stood at the open door. Within,<span class="pagenum">[122]</span>
hundreds of candles lighted the vast grey dome.
And far beyond, in a haze of mystery, stood the
man she loved, and by his side his bride, all veiled
in white. And she knew his quest was done, and
that he had found her whom he had gone to seek.
Then there was a stir in the multitude, and a peal
of bells rang out on the stillness without. The
Princess sank down and felt as though she swooned.</p>
<p>A kiss was on her lips, and she trembled, for she
knew the moment had come for the Prince to
claim her. But the kiss was sweet. The Sleeping
Beauty came slowly back to consciousness; she
awoke, and before her was a tall knight in silver
armour. His handsome features were lighted up
with joy: she knew him well, and, enfolded in his
embrace, she murmured happily:—</p>
<p>"It is you, O Prince, the youth of my dream!"</p>
<p>And the little briar rose peeped in at the turret
casement and nodded in the breeze at the lovers as
they sat close clasped, and as the bells pealed forth,
told the news to the ivy, which told it to the jessamine,
until soon the tidings spread over the great
city far and wide, and over all the joyful land.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z160" id="z160"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z160.jpg" width-obs="470" height-obs="600" alt="" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">It is you, O Prince, the youth of my dream!</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum">[123]</span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_GAMEKEEPERS_DAUGHTER" id="THE_GAMEKEEPERS_DAUGHTER"></SPAN>THE GAMEKEEPER'S DAUGHTER</h2>
<p>"Just run up to the Grange and tell her ladyship
the bull-pup is doing nicely, and that you bandaged
its leg as she showed you. Make haste, lass,
if you're not too tired, as her ladyship would like
to know before she drives out."</p>
<p>"All right, Dad; I'll run. It's much too cold to
walk."</p>
<p>Rogers, the gamekeeper, glanced with pride
after the little retreating figure, and then, as his
old mother was standing in the draughty porch
awaiting him, he kissed her wrinkled face, and
they entered the cottage together.</p>
<p>Nancy was soon at the Grange, her cheeks
aglow under the scarlet hood of her cloak. New
people were at the big house, and there seemed
a deal of bustle going on. She waited in the
vestibule and stared at the brightness, at the
beautiful pictures and decorations where, ever
since she had known the Grange, all had been
damp and decay. She had never seen anything
like this before, and she was enjoying the novelty,
mixed with awe at all the grandeur, when a little<span class="pagenum">[124]</span>
girl richly dressed, about three years old, ran up
to her. Nancy dropped a little bob of a curtsey,
as her grandmother had taught her to do to the
gentry.</p>
<p>Little Iris was not at all shy, and was full of
one thought only—the thought of Christmas—so
that she burst out with: "D'you know to-morrow's
Christmas Day?" and, without waiting
for a reply, she babbled on: "I'm going to have
such boo'ful things—a dolly that sends kisses, a
pamberlator for her to ride in, a gold watch with
real ticks, and a titten with real scratches. Guess
who'll bring them."</p>
<p>"Her ladyship?" ventured Nancy, dazzled at
such a haul of magnificence.</p>
<p>"No, not Mummy," exclaimed Iris, capering with
delight and revealing more of her frills and laces.</p>
<p>"I can't guess, Miss," said Nancy, smiling
through her diffidence—which was just what Iris
wanted her to say.</p>
<p>"It's Santa Claus! Santa Claus always brings
me just what I want. Isn't it clever?"</p>
<p>"Who's Santa Claus? Is it your aunt, Miss?"</p>
<p>"I'm 'peaking to you about Santa Claus—a
gen'lman. I've not seen him—never been able to
catch him yet."</p>
<p>"Catch him! But who tells him what you
want?" She was getting quite interested.<span class="pagenum">[125]</span></p>
<p>"The little bird."</p>
<p>Nancy felt completely mystified. What a different
world this seemed to hers!</p>
<p>"What toys are <i>you</i> going to get?" continued
Iris.</p>
<p>"Oh, no <i>toys</i>. I live in the cottage in the forest.
Dad is always so busy, and I help him look out
for poachers—so I have useful presents, I don't
have toys. Granny gave me this warm cloak last
year; and then, Dad's pockets get so full of sweets
that they last for months."</p>
<p>"Sweets and useful things aren't p'esents," said
Iris, surprised. "Poor little girl! Wouldn't you
like toys?" she added.</p>
<p>"I think so, Miss—at least, I've not seen many.
Cousin Janey has a skipping-rope and a workbox,
but she won't let me touch them."</p>
<p>"Ah! you've been here long enough, Iris
darling. I hear Nurse calling you," exclaimed
a soft voice, and her ladyship, with a kindly look
at the visitor, laughingly caught up her little
daughter in her arms before the child even knew
she was there. Then she received the message,
gave the little messenger a slice of cake, and in
a moment Nancy was leisurely munching the fee
as she trudged her way back on the grass through
the frosty park. The dusk was gathering, when
suddenly in the stillness she heard a dull thwack<span class="pagenum">[126]</span>
as of a stick against a branch—which caused her
to stop and listen. She knew what the sound
meant.</p>
<p>"That's one of those poachers: he's knocked
down a pheasant, I'll be bound!" said the gamekeeper's
daughter to herself. "I'll just be after
him!" and, gathering her skirts close around her,
she crept through into a thick plantation. She
had the intrepid fearlessness of her father, whose
companion on his rounds she had been, when no
danger was thought to be afoot, ever since she was
old enough to ride pickaback. It came quite
natural to her to help him, and though the old
grandmother grumbled at her boyish ways she
said nothing, for the child was obedient enough,
and could read and write and sew; and, moreover,
her son would brook no interference with his
treasure—especially since her mother had died.</p>
<p>"Drop that!" cried Nancy. "Who's there?"</p>
<p>Hearing only a girl's voice, a rough-looking
fellow emerged grinning from behind a tree, with
the dead bird he had just picked up in his hand.
A limp bag was slung over his shoulder, a stout
staff was in his other hand, and a snarling
"lurcher" dog slunk at his feet.</p>
<p>"Steady, Muffins!" said the man, giving the
cowering animal a gentle kick as a reminder.
"Now, Missy, what can I do for you?"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z166" id="z166"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z166.jpg" width-obs="464" height-obs="600" alt=""You can just hand over that pheasant"" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"You can just hand over that pheasant"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[127]</span></p>
<p>"You can just hand me over that pheasant.
Ah! it's you, is it? I know you, Tom Grollins,
and I'll report you to the gamekeeper."</p>
<p>The poacher gazed at her stupidly for a moment.
"Give you the blessed bird and be reported too,
Missy? Come, that ain't 'ardly fair, is it? (<i>Will</i>
yer lie down, Muffins?) Now look 'ere. If I give
yer the bird, will y'promise not to say a word as
it was Tom Grollins—on yer davey, now? Will
y'promise, Missy?"</p>
<p>She nodded. Tom Grollins was not very strong
of intellect, and he was a known coward, and as
the sound of a carriage was heard close by, the
bargain was hastily concluded; the pheasant was
handed over without further parley on the undertaking
of the promise—"No names."</p>
<p>The promise, of course, Nancy faithfully kept
when she delivered to her father the bird she had
demanded with such pluck and authority, and told
him how she had got it. The gamekeeper laughed,
remarking that he wouldn't press her, but could
make a pretty shrewd guess if he chose. However,
she was worth her weight in gold, he said, and he
patted her on the head for a trump—and Nancy
felt uncommonly proud. But she didn't quite
understand what he meant when he said that
terms such as she had made would not be quite
approved of by the Lord Chancellor.<span class="pagenum">[128]</span></p>
<p>Then as Granny came in Nancy told of all she
had seen, and of all the wonderful presents the
tiny lady at the Grange was going to receive at
Christmas, because she wanted them; and that a
gentleman staying at the house called Mr. Santa
Claus gave them, and knew what to get, because a
bird—a parrot, she supposed—had heard and told
him what the little lady wanted.</p>
<p>That night when Nancy was in bed she could
think of nothing else but Santa Claus and the
wonderful toys; and the thoughts were just beginning
to get confused with a greatly envied
skipping-rope and workbox, when she suddenly sat
bolt upright in bed wide awake.</p>
<p>Her room was a tiny one leading off the kitchen,
and in the moonlight she had just seen Tom
Grollins pass by—this time with a full bag on his
back, and the faithful Muffins was close at his
heels.</p>
<p>"Well, I never did!" exclaimed Nancy, in her
astonishment and vexation unconsciously quoting
her grandmother; "I <i>never</i> did! Now what's to
be done? Gran's no use—Dad's out. But Dad's
sure to find that wicked poacher," she reflected, on
hearing the clock strike nine: "he's in the forest,
and can't be far." And she lay back, relieved at
the thought that her father had suspiciously refused
the invitation of a shabby, gaitered, and very<span class="pagenum">[129]</span>
doubtful sportsman, to drink Christmas in with
mulled beer at the village tavern. She had heard
her father remark afterwards that he wanted "to
be within earshot of gunshot." So she wouldn't
worry, for Tom wouldn't get the things after all.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>After a time Nancy changed her mind. As in
a dream, but not feeling a bit sleepy, she quickly
donned her cloak, stealthily opened the kitchen
door so as not to disturb the old lady, and hastened
out into the night. Curiously enough, she didn't
feel cold in the bleak air—and in her hurry she
never even noticed she was without shoes or
stockings.</p>
<p>In front of her was a man, and she quickened
her pace. She soon overtook him—sooner than
she expected, for dark clouds overshadowed the
moon, and she was at his side before she knew it.</p>
<p>"Tom Grollins!" she exclaimed, breathless and
indignant: "how dare you! I've caught you
again!"</p>
<p>"I'm not Tom Grollins," replied her companion
in a deep, manly voice, in which a funny chuckle
seemed to rumble.</p>
<p>For a moment the child hesitated. It certainly
didn't sound like Tom Grollins's whiny treble, but
then—perhaps he was pretending, so as to put her
off.<span class="pagenum">[130]</span></p>
<p>"Yes, you are," she retorted firmly. "Now,
what are you doing here?"</p>
<p>"It's a secret."</p>
<p>"You're after poaching again. I shall report
you to Dad. And," she added severely, "you've
just got to give me this very minute all you've got
in that bag."</p>
<p>"All in my bag? Softly, softly: wouldn't that
be highway robbery, with threats?" answered the
jolly voice, and with a laugh—"Oh, greedy!"</p>
<p>Nancy stopped and stared hard, but it was too
dark for her to see him, as she had done from her
bed. He had stopped too.</p>
<p>"Who are you, then?" she asked lamely.</p>
<p>"Santa Claus," came the reply.</p>
<p>"Santa Claus!" repeated the child in astonishment.</p>
<p>The dark cloud-wrack happened to part, and
Nancy saw towering above her the dearest and most
imposing old gentleman imaginable, with a large
smiling face and long white beard. White curly
hair fringed his holly-decked scarlet cap, and his
long, loose, red coat revealed here and there glimpses
of scarlet plush beneath. Instead of rabbits and
pheasants, he was laden with the newest of toys;
and as to Muffins, he was nowhere to be seen—unless
he was that toy-dog dangling from the
overflowing bag, and wearing a leather collar with
<span class="pagenum">[131]</span>bell attached, and a leather muzzle that ought to
allay the fears of the most nervous.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z172" id="z172"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z172.jpg" width-obs="453" height-obs="600" alt=""Who are you, then?"" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"Who are you, then?"</p>
<p>"Yes, little woman, I am Santa Claus—himself!"
he repeated, with his jolly chuckle.</p>
<p>"I—I—beg your pardon," stammered Nancy,
quite confused.</p>
<p>"It's all right," he replied good-humouredly.
"Now shall I see you home before I continue my
rounds?"</p>
<p>"Oh, may I come with you?" The words had
dropped out of her mouth before she could stop
herself.</p>
<p>Santa Claus shook his head. "Come with me,
indeed? I should think not! Come with me?
'Pon my word!" Then he hesitated and smiled,
and said kindly, "Well, come along, dear. You're
a good, brave little girl. But you must know I've
never made such an exception before. However,
it's so odd to find a child who doesn't know me—even
such a little village mouse as you—that we
must really make one another's acquaintance."</p>
<p>He drew Nancy under his cloak to keep her extra
warm, and to hide her from view, and he showed
her how she could peep out. Then he took her by
the hand, and the quaint pair proceeded along the
mysterious-looking forest until they came to the
part Nancy loved best. There, heaps and heaps of
fir-trees grew, the tall ones protecting the wee ones,<span class="pagenum">[132]</span>
and the wee ones doing their best to try and grow
tall too.</p>
<p>Santa Claus stood still, and looked around, as if
in preparation of some important matter. Nancy
felt something was going to happen, and she peered
up into the face of her guide.</p>
<p>"Father Christmas has come!" he proclaimed
loudly at last.</p>
<p>And then what a change there was! The fir-trees
all became Christmas-trees, lighted each one—big
and little—with candles, blue or green, yellow or
red, each burning with the same coloured light.
And from the diamond-frosted branches hung toys
innumerable. At the top of each tree stood
triumphant a fairy-doll with wand outstretched.</p>
<p>Nancy clasped her hands with rapture at the
sight. "Oh, Santa Claus!" was all she could
exclaim.</p>
<p>He lifted her on to his shoulder, and let her gaze
until she had gazed enough. Now, indeed, she
realised what toys were—whence they came, and
how they grew.</p>
<p>Then she felt he was carrying her away, and her
heart beat with curiosity and excitement, for she
knew Santa Claus was proceeding on his rounds to
pay visits to all the sleeping children who deserved
it, while she was clinging to his dear old neck, and
would see all that went on.<span class="pagenum">[133]</span></p>
<p>The first visit was to Iris at the Grange, whither
Santa Claus was already on his way. They entered
the pretty bedroom, where the spoilt little lady was
smiling in anticipation in her sleep; and the "dolly,
pamberlator, watch, and titten with real scratches"
(immovably asleep) were all produced as though by
some conjuring trick from Santa Claus's basket or
deep pockets, and duly placed to meet the child's
eager glance on her waking.</p>
<p>"Mr. Santa Claus," whispered Nancy, who had
been wondering all the time, "how did we get here?"</p>
<p>"Chimney!" he whispered back.</p>
<p>"Chimney?"</p>
<p>Santa Claus nodded.</p>
<p>This didn't make her much wiser, for to her
knowledge she had never seen the inside of a chimney
in her life; but she forgot to pursue the subject
now that something more interesting was going on.</p>
<p>Iris had vanished, and a pale little boy lay asleep
in a room above a flower shop.</p>
<p>"He doesn't care for toys," whispered Santa
Claus; "he loves that pink geranium by his side."
And a gaily painted watering-pot was placed next
to his flowering possession. "How white in comparison
with the blossom the suffering, pinched little
face looks on the pillow!" thought Nancy; "he
<i>will</i> be pleased." Before they left, Santa Claus
filled the can with water from the cracked toilet jug.<span class="pagenum">[134]</span></p>
<p>In the large house across the way were sounds of
bright music—a party was going on.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid it's too early to go there yet," said
Santa Claus, consulting his great watch. "However,
we'll go and see; it's really high time for all
youngsters to be in bed." In the night-nursery
were two cots. Both were empty. "I must call
on my way back," he said.</p>
<p>Just then the door opened, and childish voices
were heard shouting: "Santa Claus! We'll catch
him if we're quick!"</p>
<p>And there was only just time for the two
travellers to disappear before the lights were turned
up and the owners of the cots rushed in.</p>
<p>"Nearly caught that time!" exclaimed Santa
Claus, as they proceeded on their way (it was extraordinary
how alert and agile he was for such an old
and portly gentleman), and he burst out into a loud
laugh, and only recovered from it as they entered
a long room full of small beds. It was decorated
with holly and mistletoe. A light burned at one
end, where sat a pleasant-looking nurse half-screened
in the corner by the fire.</p>
<p>Nancy followed Santa Claus's movements with
breathless interest as he flitted to each little sleeping
occupant of the hospital ward—for such it was—placing
here a toy horse of skin and harness with a
long wavy tail; there a lovely picture-book with a<span class="pagenum">[135]</span>
green cover, on which the title was printed in large
gold letters.</p>
<p>Twice only did Nancy heave a little sigh, quickly
repressed, and her eyes filled with longing: once
when a skipping-rope was loosely tied round the
clasped hands of a little girl who was convalescent,
and was going to leave, as Santa Claus explained;
and once again when, creeping on tiptoe, he placed
under the chair of the dozing nurse a very smart
workbox, with the name engraved on top.</p>
<p>Every now and then Santa Claus would linger
to smooth the look of pain from a little suffering
face into a smile, or touch with his cool palm a
little fevered hand.</p>
<p>As she trotted round with him, tears of pity and
happy sympathy filled Nancy's eyes, and she tried
to give Santa Claus a good hug—only she couldn't
reach half-way round—while he tenderly wiped
those tears on his big cuff, and carried her off, a
long way, to a very poor cottage. There they
peeped round from behind the door.</p>
<p>Everything looked bright, and sounded happy too,
and every now and again, amid the laughter and
the chatter, the arrival of Santa Claus was gaily
prophesied. Three little girls were dancing round
three of those tiny decorated Christmas-trees
Nancy had seen that eve, and their parents, looking
on happily, echoed their exclamations of joy. She<span class="pagenum">[136]</span>
was surprised to see so much jollity in so poor a
place; but Santa Claus didn't seem to be so—he
merely muttered, "It's all right this year!" and
withdrew with her the same way they had come.</p>
<p>"And now," remarked Santa Claus cheerily,
"before I go back to the party children or do
anything else I must visit all the other hospitals.
I've brought you home because you must be very
tired, little woman. I'm terribly busy to-night—half
afraid I shan't get it over in time: just think
of the disappointment if I don't! So good-night,
Nancy! Pleasant dreams! A Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year!"</p>
<p>And his kind face bent over her in bed, as it had
over so many others that Christmas Eve; and as
he pressed her hand he added, with a smile, "I've
a terrible lot to do, and I mustn't forget <i>anybody</i>!"</p>
<p>The dawn heralded once again a Christmas Day,
and when the sun peeped forth he awoke Nancy.
She looked round, and uttered a cry of surprise and
delight. For before her astonished eyes she seemed
to see a little fairy-land all to herself. Grouped
about her bed were a skipping-rope, a workbox—both
handsomer than Janey's—and a little box
besides. She couldn't believe they were real, so
she felt them all over, and not only found they were
quite real, but the little box when it was touched
sent forth the most lovely, mysterious music.<span class="pagenum">[137]</span></p>
<p>"Dear, kind, darling Santa Claus!" exclaimed
Nancy. Then she saw that beside them there was
also a plum pudding with a Christmas card attached,
from the new mistress of the Grange. What was
puzzling was that on a chair close by hung three
pairs of her father's new socks with a paper asking
her to mark them; but they were marked already,
and were full of good things to eat.</p>
<p>Never in all her nine years had Nancy had such
a Christmas. After saying her morning prayers,
she sat down at the table, where, with elbows outspread
and her little tongue peeping out as she
moved her pen, she wrote the following letter:—</p>
<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Claus</span>,—Thank you very much for
those lovely presents: I like them very much. And
thank you for the lovely time I had going about
with you last night. I shall never forget it.
Please forgive me for thinking you were the wicked
poacher, Tom Grollins. I must now say good-bye.</p>
<p>"I send you 200 kisses (x x x etsetra).</p>
<p class="author">
"Your grateful little friend,<br/>
"<span class="smcap">Nancy Rogers</span>."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And then she addressed it to him at the Grange.</p>
<p>When Nancy had stamped and posted it, her
grandmother and her father came in to breakfast,
and received Nancy's grateful thanks, for she wore
a pretty new frock. Then she told them that as<span class="pagenum">[138]</span>
she had hurried back from the post-box, so as not
to be late for breakfast, she had heard the head
gardener say to the butler that Tom Grollins had
been seen that night striding quietly along with a
big bag well stuffed.</p>
<p>"But, Dad," continued his daughter with conviction,
"it isn't true. I'm sure it's a mistake."</p>
<p>"Why isn't it true, lass?" inquired her father.
"It's likelier to be true than not."</p>
<p>"Because I made the same mistake myself,"
said Nancy.</p>
<p>"Well, it would take a good deal to persuade
me that my little meeting with that slippery rascal
turned out to be a mistake!" exclaimed the gamekeeper,
as he set down his cup and smiled with satisfaction.
"When did you meet him, little woman?"</p>
<p>"Last night."</p>
<p>"And who do you fancy it was, dearie?" asked
the old grandmother.</p>
<p>"I <i>know</i> who it was, Gran. It was Mr. Santa
Claus!" As they smiled still, she ran and fetched
his presents she was anxious to show.</p>
<p>And Nancy knew she was right, and that it <i>was</i>
Santa Claus, for nothing more was heard of the
poacher Tom Grollins for ever so long, and every one
Nancy asked seemed to know all about Santa Claus
having been on his rounds that night—even those
who hadn't seen him.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z182" id="z182"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z182.jpg" width-obs="565" height-obs="546" alt="She ran and fetched his presents she was anxious to show" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">She ran and fetched his presents she was anxious to show</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum">[139]</span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="ALL_ON_A_FIFTH_OF_NOVEMBER" id="ALL_ON_A_FIFTH_OF_NOVEMBER"></SPAN>ALL ON A FIFTH OF NOVEMBER</h2>
<p class="h3">MORNING</p>
<p>It might have been the middle of the night; but
it wasn't—it was Guy Fawkes' Day, and eight
o'clock on a foggy morning. The London square
was more than usually hushed and mournful, except
for a warning call or whistle as a van cautiously
lumbered along, or blundered on to the pavement.
The nursery fire did its best to look cheerful: the
lights were all on too, showing up the bright
pictures on the walls and the bright faces of the three
children who were chattering gaily at the breakfast-table.
And they all looked so smart! Alec and
Frank in their best suits, and tiny Molly wore her
prettiest white frock and her coral necklace, just as
if she were going to a party.</p>
<p>They soon scrambled off their chairs, and Molly,
standing on tiptoe, seized hold of a bunch of lilies
tied up with ribbon that was on the side table, and
each of her brothers eagerly possessed himself of a
neat brown paper parcel.</p>
<p>It was Father's birthday. The occasion was always
kept as a holiday, and the children were waiting<span class="pagenum">[140]</span>
for his call to summon them to his dressing-room.</p>
<p>"I think he must be fifty!" remarked Alec.</p>
<p>"I fink he's fifteen," said their little sister.</p>
<p>She spoke in a tone of conviction, accompanied
by a toss of her short curls.</p>
<p>"Don't be silly, Mollikins," replied the boys with
a laugh; but she said she was sure she was right.</p>
<p>"Halloa, Kidlets! Come along down!" came
the shout of a manly voice. There was a stampede,
and a race as to who should get there first. Molly
arrived a bad third, but it was she who was first for
him, for he went towards her and picked her up.
She put her free arm around his neck, but instead
of making him her little speech she exclaimed as
he kissed her—</p>
<p>"Why, Daddy, your chin is full of splinters!"</p>
<p>The boys delivered their presents, and were
kissed or patted on the head, and thanked, before
Molly parted with the flowers which she held so
tightly in her little fist.</p>
<p>"Your Babyship is very kind," said her father,
gratefully shaking her by the hand, and, laughing
still, he put her down. Then he took her hint, and
seriously began to shave.</p>
<p>They knew they mustn't talk to him whilst that
important function was proceeding, so the three
stood still, deeply absorbed as they watched the<span class="pagenum">[141]</span>
performance that fascinated them with its dangers
and its hairbreadth escapes.</p>
<p>"<i>Now</i> I can kiss my little Mollikins and she won't
complain." He put down the towel, took her up
again, and rubbed his smooth cheek against hers.</p>
<p>"Daddy, tell me how old you are," she asked,
looking into his eyes.</p>
<p>"Oh, how can I do that? It's a secret."</p>
<p>"Do whisper it," she coaxed. After a moment's
hesitation he smilingly whispered something into
her ear.</p>
<p>"Oh, what a 'tock of years!" she exclaimed.</p>
<p>"What is it?" clamoured Alec. "I'm sure I'm
right."</p>
<p>"I'm sure I am!" asserted Frank.</p>
<p>"I <i>know</i>!" cried the delighted Molly, bursting
with importance. "May I tell?" Her father nodded.
"Twenty-one!" she exclaimed triumphantly.</p>
<p>"Bosh! Why, he said he was that last year!"
cried Frank.</p>
<p>"And the year before," asserted Alec; "and the
year before that—I remember quite well. Father
always says that."</p>
<p>"Guy!" called their mother just then. "Please
send the children in to me." She was having
her morning tea, so the young people ran into
the adjoining room to hug her and be hugged in
return.<span class="pagenum">[142]</span></p>
<p class="h3">NOON</p>
<p>"Sun's tum out!" announced Molly, as she
toddled away from the nursery window.</p>
<p>"Hooray!" shouted Frank. "It's going to be
fine for this evening!"</p>
<p>There were going to be great doings. Father's
birthday and Guy Fawkes' Day made a grand double
event long looked forward to with enjoyment.</p>
<p>"Hooray!" echoed Alec rather feebly, for he was
desperately busy. Outside—now that the fog had
lifted—the busy hum could be heard of everyday
life, mingled with boys' shouts as they trundled a
guy about.</p>
<p>"I've found something out!" suddenly exclaimed
Alec in a curious voice, and he spread out on the
table the front page of an old <i>Times</i>. "Look here,
Frank!" he continued in growing excitement.
"Here, under the Births—marked with red pencil—'Guy
Thompson!' That's Father—here's the
date. Wait a moment. Now I'll reckon it out.
Hush! Don't say anything while I do the sum.
<i>I say!</i> Father <i>is</i> twenty-one!"</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> knew it!" exclaimed Molly, capering about.
"I told you so."</p>
<p>"Rubbish!" said Frank. "Molly, do shut up.
Alec, where did you find that paper? How did it
come here?"<span class="pagenum">[143]</span></p>
<p>"I found it there, on the rocking-chair. It looks
old, and it <i>is</i> old. See, here's the date. It's very
funny! I wish we could find out—it <i>would</i> be jolly
to find out all by ourselves, if this really can be true.
I say, I know who'd tell us. I've heard all about
Somerset House—where you can get to know about
people and their affairs—only I don't know where
the place is, or who lives there."</p>
<p>"An omlibus will take us anywhere," spoke up
Molly.</p>
<p>"Who's <i>us</i>?" inquired Frank scornfully.</p>
<p>"Never mind <i>her</i>," said Alec excitedly. "I'll tell
you what. Listen: this afternoon, when we've got
to be in the play-room, let's go in a cab to Somerset
House, and just get to know once for all. I've got
four shillings in my money-box; what have you
got?"</p>
<p>"I'll count." Frank counted up to five shillings.</p>
<p>"The man may want more. Mollikins, what have
you got in your purse?"</p>
<p>"Dot sixpence."</p>
<p>"Well, if you pay your share, we'll take you with
us—that is, if you can put on your own hat. I can
help you with your coat." And so it was arranged.</p>
<p>And at three o'clock that cold afternoon Alec,
Frank, and Molly might have been seen stealing
forth into the keen air; they were supposed to
be playing at marbles in the garret or they might<span class="pagenum">[144]</span>
have been seen, and packed back again. The
boys were well muffled up, and Molly had her hat
on with the back to the front. The three were in
high spirits once they were off, and they realised the
full importance of such an adventure. In Alec's
hand was the sheet of newspaper in which the truth
of the paragraph was to be tested. Alec hailed the
first cab, the driver shook his head. The second
paid no attention. The third asked them who they
thought they were getting at and where they thought
they were going to.</p>
<p>"Somerset House!" ordered Alec, after quickly
lifting Molly in, and Frank had closed the door
smartly. On the way there they behaved much
better than they usually did when they drove out.
No one fidgeted; no one complained of feeling
hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or anything.</p>
<p>When they alighted the cabman was told to wait.
Molly and her brothers passed through the imposing
gateway of Somerset House, and were starting to
cross the quadrangle, when they saw the Beadle in
his fine uniform (whom they took to be the Duke),
and learned from him where they could find the room
of which they were in search.</p>
<p>"Births, please," said Alec, bold as brass, to the
gentleman behind the counter. He was leader and
spokesman whenever they went shopping, and he
was leader and spokesman to-day. Frank never interfered.<span class="pagenum">[145]</span>
And Molly had gone stonily shy. "Births,
please," repeated Alec, impatient at being stared at.</p>
<p>"What name?" said the gentleman, looking at
them amused.</p>
<p>"Thompson," replied Alec.</p>
<p>"Any particular Thompson? You see, we may
have several Thompsons in our entries—five or six
at least."</p>
<p>"This is Mr. Guy Thompson," said Alec, showing
the marked paragraph.</p>
<p>"Very well," said the gentleman (who, thought
Alec, must be the Duke's butler). "But have
you got the fee?-the half-crown you must pay
for the search?"</p>
<p>"A half-crown's very dear," said Alec. "Can't
you do it for less?"</p>
<p>The gentleman looked at them with kindly eyes.
"I dare say I can," he replied, putting his hand in
his pocket, and rattling some coins. "But I'm
afraid you'll have to pay a shilling. The King
wants one." They paid their shilling for the King;
watched while the gentleman looked up his records,
and followed him into the corridor as he prosecuted
his search. At last he said—</p>
<p>"Quite right. Born on the fifth of November:
year's all right. It's all in order."</p>
<p>"Then Father <i>is</i> twenty-one?" queried both
boys doubtfully.<span class="pagenum">[146]</span></p>
<p>Molly hopped on one foot in suppressed excitement.</p>
<p>"<i>Your father!</i>" exclaimed the kindly clerk,
handing back the coin. "Why, how old are you?"</p>
<p>"Ten," replied Alec. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"And so your father married at the age of ten
or thereabouts, did he? Dear me; very precocious
of him!" exclaimed the clerk, with such a serious
face that the children felt quite uncomfortable.
They had not considered the matter in
that light at all. Their faces fell, and they felt
such a wish they had never come that without a
word of explanation they turned and fled. They
were glad to be once more outside the building,
and thankful to find the cabman still there waiting
to take them back, and in their discomfiture he
was hailed by them joyfully as a dear old friend.</p>
<p>"Home!" said Alec, when they were inside.</p>
<p>"And where might that happen to be?" asked
the driver with interest.</p>
<p>Molly, womanlike, jumped at a conclusion.
"We're lost!" she wailed, and burst into tears,
and it was only when she was in sight of her
own nursery windows that she was comforted,
and smiled once more. Without any inquiry,
all their remaining savings were emptied into the
willing palm of the delighted driver, who bowed
his acknowledgments repeatedly.<span class="pagenum">[147]</span></p>
<p>The children ran through the garden entrance
unobserved, and had just got their outdoor things
off when the tea-bell rang.</p>
<p class="h3">NIGHT</p>
<p>When Alec, Frank, and Molly entered the
drawing-room, where their parents were in readiness,
for the great annual frolic with Father, they
didn't tumble in as was their usual habit; they
walked in sedately. They had something important
to say.</p>
<p>"Truly, Daddy, how old are you?" asked Molly,
running up to him. She wouldn't be hushed down
by the boys. She felt she wanted to make sure
of what she already knew.</p>
<p>"I told you I was twenty-one, of course! One
always expects such a nice lot of presents when
one is twenty-one! But you two young rascals
evidently think I really must be a very old man of
forty at least!" he replied, smiling.</p>
<p>"And does he never grow older, Mummy?"</p>
<p>"I don't see it, Molly darling."</p>
<p>"Do you ever see the <i>Times</i>, boys?" he
inquired.</p>
<p>"That's just what's so queer," said Alec. "I've
got it here." Alec noticed the glance which his
parents exchanged, and their expression of astonishment
when Frank remarked<span class="pagenum">[148]</span>—</p>
<p>"We took it with us this afternoon to Somerset
House."</p>
<p>"Yes," corroborated Alec.</p>
<p>"Me, too," chimed in Molly.</p>
<p>And then they told of all they had done, and
their parents tried to look grave, but couldn't, and
could scarcely speak for laughing, though they
extorted a promise that nothing of the kind should
ever again be attempted without permission.</p>
<p>"Surely, what is in the <i>Times</i>," reasoned their
father, "must be true—at least one must presume
so."</p>
<p>"Halloa," broke in Alec. "I say, Frank! Look
here! This Guy Thompson was born in Cambridge
Square! I never noticed that. Weren't you born
in Oxford Square, Father?"</p>
<p>"Well, I think I might just as well have been
born in one as in the other. All I know is, that
if I <i>was</i> twenty-one, I am twenty-one—<i>and</i> the
rest—you never asked me how many more. Come
along, boys, now for our cushion-fight! But first
of all, here are your expenses back again—your
Babyship, there's your sixpence—and now I really
can't wait any longer for a romp!"</p>
<p>Soon the room was gay with laughter. Father,
too, had to be a real guy and a "pretend" one,
pushed about in the arm-chair with a funny long
nose spoiling his jolly face. And afterwards they<span class="pagenum">[149]</span>
all danced whilst their mother played a hornpipe—and
really it <i>was</i> very difficult to guess Father's
years, they might have been anything!</p>
<p>Then he suddenly ran out. There was a rush to
the window, the blind was drawn up, and soon, in
the darkness of the night, a grand catharine-wheel
was seen whizzing round in a blaze of dripping
fire. Then such a glorious shoot of rockets arose!
Whish! bang! whish! bang! they went as they
burst, each of them, into a shower of gorgeous
stars all purple, and green, and gold.</p>
<p>"A—a—h!" exclaimed the three children, gazing
with rapture. And—</p>
<p>"A—a—h!" they repeated over and over and
over again, as splendour followed splendour, and
the sky was powdered again and again with sparks
of coloured fire.
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[150]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="FATHER_CHRISTMAS_AT_HOME" id="FATHER_CHRISTMAS_AT_HOME"></SPAN>FATHER CHRISTMAS AT HOME</h2>
<p class="h3">TWILIGHT</p>
<p>It was afternoon on a cold December day. Eva,
all alone in the schoolroom, sat down on the
hearthrug and looked thoughtfully into the fire.
She was, however, not quite alone, for her tiny
Yorkshire terrier sprang on her lap, and after
turning round and round, pawing at her frock as
though to make a comfortable hollow, settled
cosily down.</p>
<p>"Dot," she said, smoothing the hair back from its
eyes, "I'm very miserable. To-morrow is Christmas
Eve, and every one is happy except me. I'm
in trouble again. Somehow, I'm always in trouble—I've
spoilt my velvet frock washing your feet—and
you didn't want them washed, did you?" The
Honourable Dot—to give it its full title—looked
desirous of forgetting the incident, then licked her
hand as a reply seemed expected.</p>
<p>"Perhaps if I had some brothers and sisters
they'd get into mischief sometimes, and it wouldn't
always be me." Dot paid no heed to her
grammar, was bored, and sighed heavily.<span class="pagenum">[151]</span></p>
<p>"I really didn't mean it when I said, 'I gloried
in being naughty.' Don't snore, Honourable!
There'll be complaints from next door."</p>
<p>It was curious, but Eva was having remorse,
brought on by all the talk of Peace and Goodwill
which was in the air. "I've tried things before,"
she muttered; "but I know what I'll do this time,"
she exclaimed, "I'll give a cot to a hospital!"</p>
<p>The little dog growled a protest as she suddenly
got up from the floor. Eva counted the money in
her money-box. "I've five shillings all but three
farthings. I'm sure that is nothing like enough!"
she mused. "It must cost at least a million
sterling pounds!" Tears came into her eyes, but
they flowed down on to a smile, as she thought of
some one who always managed to do kind deeds
and who might help her. Father Christmas!
Eva thought of asking no less a person than
Father Christmas himself to advise her. But how
to find him and get a nice quiet chat with him was
the difficulty. That he would come to her on
Christmas Eve she had no doubt, as he never
forgot her; but she had only managed to be awake
and see him once, a long time ago, and then she
but got a glimpse of him, for he rushed out of her
room as though in a terrible hurry.</p>
<p>Dot's little mistress slept badly that night; she
was racking her brain as to how she could manage<span class="pagenum">[152]</span>
to remain awake so as to see Father Christmas
when he came, and then how she could coax him
to stay for a talk—for she knew quite well how
busy he must be when he was on his rounds.</p>
<p>The following afternoon, during a general rummage
that was going on to find tiny candles and
coloured glass balls that were over from last year's
Christmas tree, Eva picked up a scrap of printed
paper, which had come out of an old cracker. She
took it upstairs to her favourite spot on the hearthrug,
and read it aloud to Dot:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Father Christmas sends this note<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From out his mansion by the moat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To all who live on land and sea,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To honour Christmas Day with glee—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Inviting them to pass his way,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With glee to honour Christmas Day."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>Eva flushed with excitement. "Why, it's a
message from him!" she cried. "It's some kind
of invitation!" and she gave Dot such a squeeze
of delight that the little creature squeaked shrilly,
scurried off, and laid low under the table.</p>
<p>She thought and puzzled and pondered over the
lines she had just read. At last she grasped their
meaning. "Of course! How simple, after all!"
she concluded. "He lives at some moated house,
and I must go to him, not wait for him to come to<span class="pagenum">[153]</span>
me. He always comes down the chimney—that's
the way I must go up!"</p>
<p>Eva didn't hesitate a moment. The opportunity
had come for which she longed. She ran downstairs
into the large, old-fashioned hall, which was
overheated as usual, by the hot-air pipes, for the
huge chimney-place was too much of a curiosity
ever to be used. Here, she felt sure, was the
starting-point of her adventure.</p>
<p>Luckily no one was about. It was windy when
she looked up the great chimney, so she took her
long, fair hair, and made it into a loose plait in
order to keep it from blowing about her face.
Then she prepared to start and secure the first
footing.</p>
<p>Eva had never been up a chimney before, and
when she began climbing she was quite surprised
to find how nice and clean it was, with steps, and
all white tiles. She toiled up, and up, and could
see blue sky and fleeting white clouds above.
After a time she stopped to rest in a little recess
in the chimney side. When she started climbing
again, the blue sky faded away, twilight came
on, and in this very, very long chimney the light
became quite dim.</p>
<p>Very soon, however, she felt with a little thrill
of pleasure the keen air all around her head and
shoulders, and she knew she had come to the top.<span class="pagenum">[154]</span>
Fortunately there was a ladder—already placed for
Father Christmas to mount—and down that she
went, looking below all the time so as not to make
a false step. It was a very, very long ladder indeed,
and Eva began to think she would have to
go on stepping down for ever, when at last she
found herself on the ground again—in a country
field with hoar frost stiffening the blades of grass,
across which she ran straight ahead as hard as
ever she could go.</p>
<p class="h3">STARLIGHT</p>
<p>Once only did she halt by the side of a lane to
consider what she should do if she couldn't find
her destination after all. Two robins alighted in
front of her, hopped about, and fluttered forward;
they were so persistent that they interested her
and she followed them. They flew along a side
path, and Eva ran after them—ran till she arrived
eager and breathless at a wooden bridge, and found
that she was in a park; that above her was the
dark vault of heaven decked out in all its diamonds;
that the bridge led across a moat; and
that in front of her was a splendid old country
mansion brilliantly lighted up, where the robins
alighted on a window-sill, and paying no further
attention to her, busied themselves with crumbs.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z200" id="z200"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z200.jpg" width-obs="391" height-obs="600" alt="It was a very, very long ladder" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">It was a very, very long ladder</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[155]</span></p>
<p>Then Eva advanced, almost in spite of herself,
went up the front steps, and standing on tiptoe,
lifted the knocker and let it fall. The knocker
resounded for a while musically, like a peal of
bells; when they ceased, the door opened, and a
very ancient man confronted her. He was tall
and thin and bent, and was dressed in draperies,
with bare legs, and he had a funny little curl in the
middle of his bald forehead.</p>
<p>"Is Father Christmas at home, please?" faltered
Eva.</p>
<p>"Yes, little Madam," came the reply. "Do
you want to see him? Really? But you will be
astonished—I warn you. Aren't you frightened?"</p>
<p>"Not a bit," replied Eva.</p>
<p>"Brave little girl!" said the very ancient man.
"Come in!" and he ushered her into an old oak-panelled
room. It had a delicious sense of comfort,
and a delight about it which, for the moment,
she didn't try to define. Her attention was attracted
by catching sight of what she thought was
her own reflection in the large mirror against the
wall—it was a little girl who came in at the same
time, and was of exactly her own height. As she
looked closer she saw that the other child was
uglier than herself, unkind in expression, slovenly
in appearance, and tried to hide herself, rather, in
the dark corner where she remained. And Eva,<span class="pagenum">[156]</span>
in the novel surroundings, soon forgot all about
her.</p>
<p>At the far end was a great log fire, and near it a
huge arm-chair, in which sat a stout, healthy, red-faced
old gentleman warmly wrapped in a crimson
dressing-gown; he was leaning back, thinking or
dozing. Eva advanced with soft steps. She was
full of eagerness and excitement, for she recognised
the white-bearded, handsome old face at once from
the many coloured portraits she had seen. It was
Father Christmas himself! Eva never knew what
impelled her to do it, but when she got close to
him she simply threw her arms around his neck
and kissed him.</p>
<p>"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Father Christmas,
starting; and catching her up, he seated her on his
knee. He recognised her at once. "How you've
grown since last year, Eva!" and he looked at her
with beaming eyes. "I suppose you know you're
trespassing? and the penalty is forty crackers or a
kiss!" And he chuckled and laughed so merrily
that she felt quite comfortable, finding trespassing
a very pleasant occupation, and wasn't a bit
alarmed at the penalty.</p>
<p>"And what brings me this honour?" he continued.</p>
<p>"Good evening, Father Christmas," spoke up
Eva quite boldly. "I'm afraid I disturbed you."<span class="pagenum">[157]</span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z204" id="z204"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z204.jpg" width-obs="454" height-obs="492" alt=""I suppose you know you're trespassing?"" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"I suppose you know you're trespassing?"</p>
<p>"Oh yes, you've disturbed me all right," he
replied briskly, "but I was only resting a little
after my labours before going on my rounds to-night."</p>
<p>"What labours?"</p>
<p>"Toys. Toys and sweets. I've been making
toys and things all the year through, and have only<span class="pagenum">[158]</span>
just got them finished in time. I love making
crackers, too; I spend all my evenings writing
mottoes for them."</p>
<p>"I found your invitation, Mr. Christmas."</p>
<p>"Bless me! did you now? Ah!" He stroked
his beard thoughtfully for a moment and remained
silent. Eva looked about her in amazement.</p>
<p>"Those are all secrets!" he observed after a
time. Father Christmas included with a sweep of
the arm the toys which were everywhere about—hanging
from the ceiling, lying about on the tables
and sofas, standing as ornaments on the mantelpiece,
filling the shelves of the bookcases, peeping
from behind the glass cabinets—toys wherever one
looked.</p>
<p>He arose, and taking her by the hand, led her
round to enjoy the pretty sight; and paying no
attention whatever to the sullen little girl in the
corner, he asked Eva if she would like to see
around his domain. "Oh yes, yes," she cried.
She quite appreciated the special honour that was
being done her.</p>
<p>"They'll be coming in here soon to pack," he
added. "I'm going to leave all these secrets
myself at their destinations."</p>
<p>There was a tremendous bustle going on at
the rear of the premises, where a whole army of
packers, carriers, postmen, and porters were hurrying<span class="pagenum">[159]</span>
about letting down toys from the loft, packing
them, labelling them to places far and wide; loading
them on huge vans which came rumbling in
and out of the courtyard with cracking of whips,
and parting shouts of "Good luck!"</p>
<p>Superintending the arrangements, walking to
and fro, was the very ancient man. He was so
alert, and always on the spot where wanted, yet
Eva was thinking his age must at least be two
hundred, when Father Christmas said kindly:
"My dear, this is my father—he is known as
Father Time, and you have known him without
having really met him face to face before."</p>
<p>"I didn't recognise him, and I didn't know he
was your father, sir," she whispered.</p>
<p>"Why, yes. Don't you know that my full
name is Christmas Time?"</p>
<p>"Of course it is," she exclaimed with a laugh.</p>
<p>The next visit was through a covered way to the
printing works—where the mottoes and "directions"
for toys and Father Christmas's visiting
cards were printed. These cards were all different
in design, and each was a beautiful picture
stamped with his name, and his own motto,
"Peace and Goodwill."</p>
<p>Behind was the sweet factory, with its tempting
packets and muslin stockings of all sizes full of
sugar-plums. But, as Father Time appeared,<span class="pagenum">[160]</span>
Father Christmas whispered that he feared they
must not linger, and led the way up a spiral
staircase in order to enable Eva to have a peep
into the toy-loft, where men were letting the toys
down into the busy yard below. How she would
have loved to stay longer in each delightful place,
but without a murmur she followed her guide below
and back to the oak-panelled room. It looked so
bare and different without the toys—much like any
ordinary room.</p>
<p>"And now, my dear," he said, "you must excuse
me for a short time, as I must go upstairs and get
ready."</p>
<p>"Please, ought I to be going?" she asked
politely.</p>
<p>"No, no. Not yet." And he went away, up
the grand staircase, to his bedroom. There he
took from the drawer his scarlet fur-lined cloak
and hood with wide swansdown trimming, which
had been put away in lavender, chose his thickest
top-boots, and humming a song, proceeded to array
himself for the long, cold journey in store for him
that night.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the moment he left his little visitor
downstairs, the strange-looking child approached
her.</p>
<p>"What's your name?" asked Eva pleasantly.</p>
<p>"Eva," came the surly reply.<span class="pagenum">[161]</span></p>
<p>"Why, that's my name!"</p>
<p>"Of course. I know you, I know you through
and through—good and bad—and I wish I
didn't."</p>
<p>"You're a horrid story-teller," said Eva angrily.</p>
<p>"Supposing I am! It's easier to tell stories
than to tell the truth. Saves a lot of trouble.
Besides, it's nice. You know that as well as
I do."</p>
<p>Eva would have liked to deny it, only she felt
too scornful. "<i>Saves</i> trouble?" she said to herself.
"<i>Makes</i> trouble." But she flushed as she remembered
she had once thought that too, but only for
a moment; and she was ashamed of it now. She
was ruffled and uncomfortable at the proximity of
this horrid girl, who now said slyly: "Look over
there in that cupboard, there's a doll that has been
forgotten. I want it, and I'm going to take it and
hide it under my pinafore."</p>
<p>"You mayn't—you mustn't!" cried Eva. "It
would be stealing."</p>
<p>"I don't care. Father Christmas won't know."</p>
<p>"Yes, he will. I shall tell him!"</p>
<p>"Then I'll say it was given to me."</p>
<p>"You horrid girl! You dreadful story-teller!"</p>
<p>"Don't be silly. What does it matter telling
stories and stealing, so long as you're not found
out?"<span class="pagenum">[162]</span></p>
<p>"It's just as bad if you're not found out. But
you are <i>bound</i> to be found out," cried Eva, in
horror and disgust as she saw her approach the
coveted treasure. "I tell you, wicked people are
always found out; they never escape unpunished."</p>
<p>"I want it, and I'm going to have it."</p>
<p>"You mustn't. Come away—you shan't!"
shouted Eva, running after her; and she seized her
by both wrists. "Come away! Oh, do come away!"</p>
<p>"You fool! leave me alone. Get away!" and
with a scoffing laugh the girl shook herself free,
sprang on a sofa, opened the cupboard, and
stretched out her hand.</p>
<p>Without a word Eva threw herself upon her,
slammed-to the glass door, and in the struggle they
fell together on the floor. There was a crash
of broken glass, and through the noise Eva heard
the voice of her opponent saying faintly: "Let me
go! You have won!"</p>
<p>When she got up, carefully shaking the bits of
glass from her frock, and looked round, the horrid
little girl had disappeared. The next moment her
host stood in the doorway with a curious smile on
his face.</p>
<p>"I'm going now," he said; "will you come?"</p>
<p>"Oh, please, Father Christmas," exclaimed Eva
ruefully, as she looked at the glass on the floor,
"do wait! I want to explain something—I——"<span class="pagenum">[163]</span></p>
<p>"I can't keep my father waiting," he answered
gently. She followed him to the front door.
There in the frosty night a beautiful sledge was
in waiting, hung with baskets and sacks overflowing
with toys and sweets. Father Christmas
took his seat and beckoned to Eva. To her joy
he lifted her on to his lap and wrapped his great
coat about her. Father Time, who was on the
box, shook the reins, and the two reindeer, impatient
to be off, sped rapidly away amid the
jangling of bells, carrying the travellers over the
bridge, through the park, past holly and fir trees
all powdered with glistening frost, out over the
country into the bright, crisp night.</p>
<p class="h3">MOONLIGHT</p>
<p>There was Eva with Father Christmas, all snug
amongst his soft furs, on his rounds. "Why do
you take some toys yourself," she asked, "and
send others away in the great carts?"</p>
<p>"Those in the carts are for my export and
wholesale trade—shops, and so on; these <i>I</i> take
are for my special favourites. You're on my list,
my dear, you know." Eva's heart was full of
tenderness and pride, but tears were in her eyes
as she said, peering appealingly into his kind face—</p>
<p>"May I whisper something?"<span class="pagenum">[164]</span></p>
<p>He bent his head—and she whispered.</p>
<p>"Bless my soul!" was all Father Christmas
replied, but he looked very pleased and jolly.</p>
<p>"And I should like to pay for it," continued
Eva; "I've got five shillings all but three farthings."</p>
<p>"Never mind about that, my dear."</p>
<p>"But I'm sure I ought," she replied dubiously.
"Dear Father Christmas, you are always doing
kindnesses; could you tell me how to do something
like giving a cot to a hospital, or a free library,
or something? That's what I really came to ask
you about, only I forgot it until now. I'm so
often in trouble, and I've so often tried to do some
good, but it doesn't come off somehow," and she
sighed.</p>
<p>"What you ask me is a secret," he answered.
"Some people are quick to find it out for themselves.
Some people never find it out. But I
will tell it to you, dear, because I know that by
to-morrow you will be on the high road to guessing
it. It is this: You need not give things. You
needn't try to be good. Try only not to be
troublesome. If you are sweet, and gentle, and
kind, you give happiness—not only do you give
it, but you can then only find happiness yourself."
Somehow, it didn't sound a bit like a sermon;
it was more like being told the delightfully easy
<span class="pagenum">[165]</span>answer to a difficult sum. Eva nestled closer to
her dear old friend as she listened—it was all so
peaceful, reassuring, and soothing.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z212" id="z212"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z212.jpg" width-obs="467" height-obs="600" alt="The two reindeer ... sped rapidly away" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">The two reindeer ... sped rapidly away</p>
<p>The moon was shining down on the sledge and
its strange occupants, and Eva was just going to
ask if he could tell her who the other little girl
was, and all about her, when she felt her arms
were being disengaged from where they clung
about him, and she found herself gently deposited
on firm ground, and alone.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>The Honourable Dot barked with delight because
it was Christmas Eve, and it was going with
its little mistress to dine downstairs; and very
joyful and succulent the event proved to be. Not
long after, when it was fast asleep in its basket, Eva
was sitting up in bed waiting anxiously to receive
the visit of her recent host. Father Christmas had
done her so much good, and she wanted to tell him
so, as she had had no opportunity of doing before.</p>
<p>She was dropping asleep in that attitude, when
she heard a slight noise. Immediately she started
up, and clutching tightly at a rapidly retreating
figure, she laughed aloud to find she had succeeded
in catching Father Christmas, who, mildly yielding
to her entreaties, sat down by her side.</p>
<p>"I have wakened you," he said regretfully.</p>
<p>"Oh no, I was waiting for you." And she told<span class="pagenum">[166]</span>
him about the happy time she had spent with him,
and thanked him nicely. "What a dreadful little
girl that other Eva was!" she concluded. "Who
was she?"</p>
<p>"Ah," said Father Christmas very quickly, "she
is what you might be were you to give way to bad
feelings. I wish you a Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year, my dear!" and without explaining
further he kissed her and rapidly withdrew
on his business.</p>
<p class="h3">DAYLIGHT</p>
<p>Outside the uncurtained window the sun was
shining. Snow had been falling softly, and was
piled high on the sill. And over the hushed landscape
from the far distance the Christmas bells
were ringing. Eva joyfully hugged a large doll,
which she had found asleep on her pillow.</p>
<p>It was only later, when she thought over past
events in detail, that it appeared to her, though
she had not paid attention to it at the time, that
Father Christmas seemed ill at ease when he was
<i>her</i> visitor—perhaps it was because he was in a
hurry. Somehow he was different from the stout,
merry-faced old gentleman she had been to see;
he had strangely shrunk to nearly as thin as her
own father, and as pale, comparatively, which she
thought very odd.<span class="pagenum">[167]</span></p>
<p>And when she looked up into that wonderful
and mysterious old chimney again, she saw that it
was all dark and black, and as uninviting as any
ordinary dirty old chimney; so that it was quite
hopeless for her ever to venture up it again to
find old Father Christmas "At Home."</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[168]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="A_BIRTHDAY_STORY" id="A_BIRTHDAY_STORY"></SPAN>A BIRTHDAY STORY</h2>
<p>If it had not been Maisie's birthday this story
could never have been written. But the day had
come for her to be five years old, and, like every
child of that age, she could no more help having
a fifth birthday than she could imagine having it
without a party. At present she was unconscious
of all the delights in store, because it was only just
dawn, and her curls were still tumbled about her
flushed face on the pillow, and her eyes were still
fast closed in sleep.</p>
<p>But in a small bed quite close to hers there was a
little girl, who was very wide awake indeed, as she
leant over with neck outstretched, gazing eagerly
at all the beautiful things so temptingly displayed
on a table at the foot of Maisie's cot—presents
from every one in the house: Hilda's box of beads
bought with her own money; a long-promised
story-book resplendent in bright blue and brilliant
in gold; some new furniture for the doll's house;
and a something that glittered strangely—Hilda
nearly toppled over in her curiosity to see it.
She found it to be a big red cracker with a funny<span class="pagenum">[169]</span>
coloured portrait of a smirking crocodile stuck on
the outside. "What lovely things!" she thought,
"and all for Maisie!"</p>
<p>In two months' time Hilda was going to celebrate
<i>her</i> birthday and be eight years old, and have
a fuss made over <i>her</i>. But two whole months
seemed such a long way off—such a very long
time to wait! Into her dark eyes there came a
strange look of envy and longing, and her handsome
face with the resolute expression contrasted
strangely with her sister's as she turned anxiously
towards the fair little sleeper.</p>
<p>Holding her breath, Hilda crept slowly down on
to the floor, stealthily approached the table, and
seized the beautiful cracker. "Surely that would
not be missed," she reflected. Just then Maisie
stirred uneasily, which brought a flush of shame to
the elder girl's cheeks; but hearing nothing further,
Hilda jumped into bed and pushed the cracker
under her own pillow. The crackling of the paper
woke Maisie, who sat up, and in the middle of
a big yawn espied the table, and remembered the
great event. "Oh, Hilda," she exclaimed, "just
look!" She was too excited as she handled her
treasures to notice that Hilda never stirred, that
she only answered shortly, "Yes, I know," and
didn't even volunteer to say whom the beads came
from.<span class="pagenum">[170]</span></p>
<p>During the whole morning Maisie's excitement
continued; she hopped about everywhere, watching
the arrangements for the afternoon party, and
chattering about who were coming; so much so,
that do what she would, Hilda could obtain no
opportunity of being alone so that she might
satisfy her burning curiosity as to what was inside
the cracker. She had dropped it behind the toy-box
in the nursery, and there it lay, whilst all the
time Maisie could not understand what made her
sister so restless and impatient.</p>
<p>Immediately after lunch, however, Hilda was
able to satisfy her longing at last. She picked up
the cracker and hurriedly opened it. What first
came to light was a big sweet wrapped in a printed
motto: "Always do what is right and you will be
happy." She read it with a pang of mental shame,
which was quickly followed by one of physical
discomfort, for she had popped the sweet into her
mouth and now would as quickly have popped
it out again, only it was too late, as she had already
swallowed the horrid thing, which was filled with a
liquid that tasted of bad scent. Making a wry
face, she rolled up the offending motto into a tiny
ball and threw it into the empty grate. Still,
it was soothing to find in the cracker a neatly
rolled up packet of pink and green paper, which
evidently formed something amusing—a bonnet, a<span class="pagenum">[171]</span>
cap, or perhaps an apron. At the same time she
drew forth the "cracking thing," which she loved
to pull and hear it go "crack." But she always did
so at arm's length with her head turned away, and
she was too frightened to pull it all by herself.</p>
<p>Their nurse's voice was heard calling Maisie to
come up and be dressed. Hilda, with a guilty, conscience-stricken
look, had barely time to throw the
useless "cracking thing" out of the open window,
and to hide the rest of the cracker in the first thing
at hand (which happened to be the doll's house),
when they both entered laughing and carried her
off too, to be curled and be-ribboned for the party.</p>
<p>"I've seen my birthday cake, Hilda," cried Maisie,
capering about. "It's booful!" But Hilda still
tasted that nauseous liqueur from the sweet, and
couldn't enter into any pleasing ideas of cake.</p>
<p>Ready first, she ran into the nursery, curious as
ever as to the pink and green paper bundle, took it
out, unfolded it, and found that it would have formed
a crown—only it didn't join together; she had torn
it in her hurry. She stamped her foot with vexation,
and was wondering if she could stick the two ends
together when that tiresome Maisie came running
in from the next room with one of her new bronze
shoes on to show how beautiful it looked. Quick
as lightning Hilda had to hide her secret again.</p>
<p>"What are you doing with the doll's house?<span class="pagenum">[172]</span>
Look at my new shoe!" exclaimed Maisie all in a
breath.</p>
<p>And Hilda made a great fuss over the new shoe,
and felt horridly out of temper.</p>
<p>Punctually on the stroke of three, the first of
the birthday party began to arrive—two little girl
cousins, who at once begged to be allowed to see if
there was anything new in the doll's house. Hilda's
heart sank at these words, and she tried to draw
their attention away, but to no avail, for Maisie,
moving towards it, said they must see the new
treasure there. With difficulty and something like
a scuffle Hilda, grown desperate, prevented her from
opening it, and managed to do so herself, quickly
stuffing the bunch of paper into her pocket without
being noticed. Much admiration was bestowed on
the new addition—a little motor car which had been
conveniently placed in the kitchen of the doll's house
ready to take out for an airing the little china lady
and gentleman who sat so rigidly and smiled so
vacantly in the storey above.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Hilda was inwardly owning to a feeling
akin to dislike for the very thought of that
cracker, for the paper was bulging out her pocket,
flatten it as she would. She was not happy, for
never before had she done anything underhand. In
fact she always tried to be an example for her young
sister, and she already regretted having given way to<span class="pagenum">[173]</span>
the momentary impulse of envy. However, there
was no time now for thoughts or remorse, and when
she reached the drawing-room she forgot all about
her trouble in helping to receive the guests.</p>
<p>Eight little girls were grouped in one corner of
the room whispering, with eyes busily engaged staring
at one another's sashes; whilst eight little boys
had flocked together and were looking sheepishly
from out of an opposite corner. One boy, however—who
had been gazing long at Hilda—with heroic
resolution detached himself from his kind, and
entered the rival camp, where he was welcomed
with pleasure and interest. He was a young Highlander,
with sandy hair and many freckles, but his
attraction was great, for he wore his native costume.
The jewelled hilt of a dagger showed above one plaid
stocking, and on his shoulder he wore a fascinating
brooch with a large brown stone, which was the envy
and admiration of all the little ladies present.</p>
<p>Suddenly the guests were all swooped upon by a
big lady, Maisie's mother, mixed up, and disentangled
into couples; a piano was set going, and
they danced, hopped, and twirled about, wondering
if they liked it; the girls thought they did, and the
boys were sure they didn't—all except the Scotch
boy, who had constituted himself Hilda's devoted
partner, and was enjoying it immensely. The polka
finished, these two sat chatting merrily at the<span class="pagenum">[174]</span>
window, when all at once Hilda became silent. She
happened to catch sight of something sticking out
of the ivy on the sill. It was the "cracking thing"
which she had thrown from the window above. Her
partner was surprised to see her look as though she
were going to cry. She didn't dare do that.</p>
<p>Just then tea was announced. Weighty recollection
of warnings from home-counsellors came to the
minds of the children, which warnings, however,
conveniently faded away at sight of the good things
set forth so temptingly in the dining-room: custards,
jellies, and all those concoctions beloved of the
youthful interior. But the chief interest centred in
Maisie's gorgeous cake, which had her name and age
flowingly written in coloured sugar, surrounded by
the most realistic and sweetest of red roses imaginable,
nestling in the coolest-looking golden leaves.</p>
<p>Hilda sat by the side of her Scotch cavalier, who
had taken her in, and who was much concerned
when he found that she had no appetite, but less distressed
when he found that that fact did not affect his.</p>
<p>Once during the meal, Hilda heard their mother
ask Maisie, as she helped her cut the birthday cake,
what was in her cracker, and Maisie replied, as she
looked up from her struggles, "What cracker?"
but then, in her anxiety to know why Hilda refused
to taste any of her cake till the morrow, she did not
pursue the subject.<span class="pagenum">[175]</span></p>
<p>After tea more excitement, for there was Mr.
Punch and his company, who were in excellent form.</p>
<p>"Oi, Oi, Oi!" repeated that gentleman for the
dozenth time, as he bobbed about aimlessly, in his
anxiety to hit the clown and take the patient Toby
between his jointless arms.</p>
<p>Later on, the eyelids of the party children began
to grow heavy, though the eyes remained unnaturally
bright; and tempers became less even and more
natural. And so, like everything else, the birthday
party came to an end, and "Good-byes" were said
with regret. That night cots and beds were not
despised, nor did they prove unwelcome for once,
for little tired heads were rested gratefully on
cool pillows. Maisie was an exception; she tossed
about on hers, too happy and excited to get to sleep,
whilst Hilda, worn out, lay on her back with her
mouth wide open, breathing heavily, and dreaming.</p>
<p>Hilda dreamt that she was alone in a boat on a
ruffled lake. On a white flag in the prow was a
motto printed large, but upside down. She dreamt
that all around the frail craft, which rocked on the
stormy waters, were grinning crocodiles wearing
broken crowns made of pink coral and green fluttering
paper. She crouched low and tried to hide, for
she knew that if the horrid creatures found her out
she was lost for ever. Land was quite close, but she
didn't know how to get there, because her frock was<span class="pagenum">[176]</span>
made of red crackling stuff, which glistened and
made a noise whenever she moved.</p>
<p>She felt sick with fright, and sobbed and moaned
at her terrible plight, and sobbing, she woke to find
that it was quite dark, that the moon was shining
on Maisie smiling in her sleep, and that she herself
had been dreaming.</p>
<p>At breakfast next morning, Maisie and their
mother were already seated when Hilda silently
took her place next her chattering little sister; but
it seemed to her that their mother looked unusually
grave. When Hilda lifted the cover off her bread
and milk bowl, Maisie suddenly looked in it and
exclaimed: "Oh, how pretty." But Hilda turned very
red, and she hung her head ashamed. For in the
bowl there was no bread and milk—nothing but a
crumpled red glazed paper with a hateful picture of
a smiling crocodile, something pink and green, a tiny
paper ball of printed paper, and a stiff thing sticking
up—easily guessed at, but now blurred and indistinct
to Hilda's tearful view.</p>
<p>"Oh, Maisie," she sobbed, "it was your crack—cracker.
I—I took it from your table. Do forgive
me—I've been so—so very miserable."</p>
<p>And their mother, rising gently and saying
nothing, quickly took the proofs of wrong-doing
away, whilst Hilda felt Maisie's arm creep round her
neck and Maisie's kisses on her wet cheek....<span class="pagenum">[177]</span></p>
<p>And in her repentance her fault was forgiven.</p>
<p>Two months later, Hilda found amongst the presents
on her birthday table a lovely cracker made of
silver paper with a little heart of real gold attached
with a blue ribbon on the outside. And then Hilda
ran and whispered eagerly in her mother's ear, who
looked very pleased and kissed her. And Maisie
was surprised and happy too, for Hilda put in her
hand the lovely cracker with its little heart of gold
for her very own to keep.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[178]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="LITTLE_STARRY" id="LITTLE_STARRY"></SPAN>LITTLE STARRY</h2>
<p>"I should like to go shooting, and see what the
earth is like," sighed a young star. But the
Evening Star knew that meant many dangers, for
down there life was not so happy or serene as up
in their lofty sphere. And she knew, too, that he
would go his own way as youth always does; and
she felt sorry, for she did not like to part with this
bright little star. And so he went. That fine
crisp night the tiny star was seen to shoot right
down to earth—and the light of his presence was
no longer there.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>A hard frost was on the ground. The shops
were shut, for it was Boxing Day. Those who
were not on enjoyment bent were snugly quartered
by their own fireside, with the firm conviction that
nothing would tempt them away. Some, however,
had business to attend to in spite of its being
a holiday, and old Joshua was one of these. He
was known as "old" Joshua because his hair had
turned prematurely white—as white as the rime
which had gathered on his shabby hat as he hurried
along the murky, dimly lighted street which led to<span class="pagenum">[179]</span>
the great theatre. The wind that entered so unceremoniously
through his thin coat was biting
cold—the violin he carried was more carefully
muffled up than he.</p>
<p>"One, two, three," he counted, as a neighbouring
clock began chiming; "four, five, six!"</p>
<p>He quickened his pace. He had to be in his
place in the orchestra in extra good time, as it was
the first night of the new pantomime. And before
that, he had some one coming to meet him at the
back entrance.</p>
<p>"I shall be there all in good time," he muttered.
"By Jupiter!" he exclaimed, as he tripped and
nearly fell over something that was lying straight
in his path. Only when he stooped down did
he discover that on the pavement lay a small
child, all cold to the touch, with fair curls dishevelled,
and eyes wide open that seemed to see
nothing.</p>
<p>Old Joshua's heart filled with pity and indignation.
"What a shame," he muttered, "to abandon
such a treasure as this! And no one about who
can help me." He looked anxiously around—no
one was in sight; so he hurriedly went in search of
a policeman. When he had succeeded in finding
one, and the two reached the spot together, a
crowd had collected and was gazing wonderingly
at the tiny, prostrate form.<span class="pagenum">[180]</span></p>
<p>"Stand back there!" commanded the man of
law.</p>
<p>The clock chimed the quarter-hour. Old Joshua
felt the cold no more—he was in a nervous heat at
the delay; nevertheless, he waited till a cab was
hailed. Then the policeman tenderly lifted the
helpless little creature into it, and the driver
wrapped his rug around it. "To the 'orspital!"
directed the policeman, stepping inside, and the
vehicle was driven smartly away. The crowd dispersed,
and with it old Joshua, as quickly as he
could hurry through the throng.</p>
<p>At the stage door he found his little Stella
awaiting him with sparkling eyes, in anticipation
of her annual treat.</p>
<p>"Daddy, you're late," she said, holding up a
finger in mock gravity; then she clapped her hands
with delight at his arrival.</p>
<p>Old Joshua would not distress her with the
cause of his delay, so he only stooped and kissed
her. "Give me your hand, old lady," he said,
"and come along quickly. Through this door—that's
right. Up you go. Don't step on my poor
toes or push against me when we turn the corner
more than you can help, or old Daddy Joshua and
his fiddle might be a little out of tune!" And,
laughing as they went, they climbed right up to
the top back row of the vast empty theatre. There<span class="pagenum">[181]</span>
a smiling attendant welcomed her as quite an old
little friend, and when he had seen his daughter
raised up on a seat by means of a big hassock, old
Joshua, with a nod of thanks, hastened below to
join his comrades of the orchestra, and help create
the squeaky din which they called "tuning up."</p>
<p>At last the lights were turned up. An eager
troop of pleasure-seekers tumbled into the gallery
in a rush, and while Stella was looking around her
every available seat was quickly occupied. The
other parts of the house were filling rapidly in
more dignified style, and soon every place was
tenanted in honour of the great Christmas pantomime.
The large orchestra struck up, and
when the overture was over the gorgeously painted
curtain slowly rose.</p>
<p>Stella, perched up aloft, forgot where she was,
and everything else in the world went straight out
of her head as she gazed with rapture at the lovely
scene that was peopled with fairies, and goblins,
and wonderful beings, disporting themselves in a
land that was all glitter and gold. And so the
hours flew by, in a wonder of loveliness, fairy
story, and fun.</p>
<p>"'Ave a bit o' orange, dearie?" asked the stout
woman who was sitting next to her. But Stella
was too engrossed to think about oranges or neighbours,
nor even did she feel the light nudge that<span class="pagenum">[182]</span>
followed. The woman merely turned to her husband,
smiled, and held her peace; while Stella
threw back her head and shook with laughter,
as the Clown tickled Pantaloon with a poker
that looked extremely red hot. She wasn't a
bit tired, and was quite surprised to hear "God
Save the King," and to find the whole beautiful
show was already over, like a dream. It had
seemed to her as though it must go on for ever.</p>
<p>Flushed and excited, and a good deal jostled by
the moving crowd, she made her way to the staircase
in order to meet the motherly attendant on
the next landing, who had promised to take her
to her father at the stage door. Stella was walking
down carefully step by step, when two young
men came roughly tearing past her. A sudden
push threw her off her balance. She knew she
screamed because she heard it. Then she knew
and heard nothing more.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Great fun was going forward in the biggest
ward in the Children's Hospital. Father Christmas
had suddenly appeared amidst much cheering and
clapping of hands. Not only were the little inmates,
the nurses, and young doctors beaming with
smiles, but Father Christmas himself felt the glow
of jollity as he busily handed the toys he carried
to his two attendant clowns. These nimble, funny<span class="pagenum">[183]</span>
fellows ran from him to the cots, backwards and
forwards, giving such beautiful toys, and saying
such funny things as they gave them, that every
child was soon laughing and happy, even those
with a bandaged head or limb, or a pain inside
or outside; and the unwonted excitement brought
a flush to their pale cheeks and brightness to
their eyes.</p>
<p>But none of the jollification was seen by the
new little inmate of the cot that was in the far
corner. A tiny blind boy lay there, with pretty, fair
curls, and large dark eyes that he turned pathetically
around. He had not spoken at all. Earlier in the
evening he had shivered much, and groaned. Now
he lay peacefully smiling, for his small hands held
a musical-box that Father Christmas himself had
placed there, and set working, and the tinkle-tinkle
of a pretty tune seemed to please and soothe him.</p>
<p>When the Christmas visitors had gone away,
and the dolls had been hushed to sleep by their
new mothers, and the woolly animals lay hugged
tightly in the arms of drowsy owners, a little
girl in a swoon from an accident was carried
into the ward. The sprained ankle had been
dressed; quietly and quickly she was put to bed,
and consciousness soon returned.</p>
<p>"Where am I?" said Stella, staring about
her.<span class="pagenum">[184]</span></p>
<p>"You fell down, dear," replied Nurse Evelyn,
"and we are taking care of you until you are
fetched home. You'll soon be all right again.
Does your ankle hurt much? Don't move it."</p>
<p>"It feels funny," replied Stella, "but doesn't
hurt now it is still—thank you very much," she
added, staring about her in amazement at the
strange faces, the holly in the strange surroundings,
at the nurses in their pretty costumes with
their white caps and aprons, and at the sleeping
children clutching their toys. In the cot next
to hers, however, the little fair-haired boy looked
awake. His eyes in their aimless wandering were
now fixed on the high window through which the
stars were twinkling at him, and the Evening Star
looked fixedly down upon him. His hands lay
listlessly on the polished wooden box. The music
had changed, and in his ear it sang of "Angels
ever bright and fair."</p>
<p>Stella, who was watching him with so much
interest, asked who he was.</p>
<p>"He is a little foundling," said Nurse Evelyn.
"He was abandoned in the cold streets."</p>
<p>Stella turned her head on the pillow towards
him again, and asked timidly—</p>
<p>"Are you better?"</p>
<p>"Talk to him to-morrow, dear," advised Nurse
Evelyn.<span class="pagenum">[185]</span></p>
<p>As she gazed at him Stella thought she had
never seen so beautiful a child. She stretched
out her arm and took his tiny palm in hers;
then he turned his face towards her and smiled,
contentedly and trustingly leaving his hand in
hers. And thus with love and pity in her heart
she fell fast asleep.</p>
<p>And in the night she saw a wonderful thing—a
moonbeam that seemed to come down into the
room—the small hand in hers unloosed itself, and
the boy arose looking gloriously beautiful; his eyes
were shining, and he could see the bright light, and
he began climbing up the beam, so easily that it
looked like gliding, so happily now that he could
see his way and whither it was leading him.</p>
<p>The next morning Stella's first thought was of
the lovely vision, and of her little companion.
She turned over and looked with surprise. The
cot in the corner was empty—so very empty, and
tidy with its smoothed fresh sheets.</p>
<p>"Oh, where's he gone?" she exclaimed.</p>
<p>Nurse hurried to her side. "Who, dear?"</p>
<p>"There—from the empty cot."</p>
<p>The Nurse looked sweet and grave. "He has
gone where he came from, dear."</p>
<p>"And where did he come from?" asked Stella,
with a curious sense of loneliness.</p>
<p>"Where all children come from."<span class="pagenum">[186]</span></p>
<p>Of course, Stella knew that all children are
Heaven-born, and come from the stars. Why,
her own name meant a star. And, of course, she
also knew that every one who was good some day
went back again to Heaven.</p>
<p>"Oh," she cried, in a hushed voice, "has he
gone back there?"</p>
<p>"Yes, dear," replied Nurse Evelyn gently. "Now,
don't think of him any more. Here's a pretty
book with pictures."</p>
<p>But Stella did think of him, a great deal more.
The little golden-haired boy occupied her thoughts
more than any one ever knew. And that night,
and many other nights, when she looked upwards
at the vast sky, so mysterious and serene with its
millions of stars, she would wonder and ponder.
And there was always one particular little star that
she loved best, and when she looked upon it a
sweetness would steal into her heart, and she
would think of the gentle boy with the angel face,
who had gone back to Heaven—for she felt quite
sure that he was there amongst them, and that he
could see her, and that, perhaps, he loved her.</p>
<p>And all to herself she called him Little Starry—and
she remembered him always.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[187]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CEDRICS_UNACCOUNTABLE" id="CEDRICS_UNACCOUNTABLE"></SPAN>CEDRIC'S UNACCOUNTABLE ADVENTURE</h2>
<p class="h3">PART I</p>
<p>Cedric was flying his kite in a flowery meadow
close to his home in Cornwall. It was a favourite
spot of his, for he was a boy who loved beautiful
scenery, and from there he could get a glimpse of
Land's End, with its great rocks around which the
waves frothed and gambolled, broke, and gurgled
away.</p>
<p>The day was grey and windy, just the sort of
day for flying a kite. This kite was of the old-fashioned
sort, with a tail of his own making, and
as it soared away higher and higher, with the tail
wriggling its great length like a happy eel on a
holiday, his heart was full of pride and content.</p>
<p>He kept on unwinding and unwinding the large
ball of string until he began to wonder if his kite
would still be in view by the time he had unwound
it all. The wind was increasing in strength, when,
to his astonishment, and apparently for no reason
at all, the pull on his arm suddenly relaxed, and<span class="pagenum">[188]</span>
the kite all at once dropped quickly to earth, tail
first. Cedric darted forward to where it lay, some
distance ahead. When he reached it, he flung
himself alongside to examine it carefully. He
could find no rent, no damage; nothing was
wrong. There was nothing, apparently, to account
for such peculiar behaviour in his hitherto well-conducted
kite.</p>
<p>As he passed his hand over it where it lay,
he felt underneath it, entangled in the tail, something
hard. He could see it glistening through.
He quickly drew it forth, and found in his hand—a
golden key.</p>
<p>"Halloa! what's this?" exclaimed Cedric, as
he knelt down and turned his discovery over
and over. "A yellow key. However did it get
there?" was his next thought. He continued
to ask himself the riddle, but finding no answer
he gave it up, and carefully examined the key.
There was no mark on it—it wouldn't even
whistle when he tried it. "Some one must have
lost it, I suppose," he went on, and concluded:
"Well, it's no use to me!" and he threw it away.
Seating himself on the grass, he soon became
absorbed in getting his kite all trim again, and
had temporarily secured the string to a bush, when
his attention was attracted by the key, which
lay and glistened as if it knew it was glistening.<span class="pagenum">[189]</span></p>
<p>Cedric didn't care to trouble with it, but instinctively
he picked it up, and said—</p>
<p>"I wonder where this key belongs to?"</p>
<p>At that moment his view of the Land's End
became slowly obscured by a huge iron door, the
lock of which was outlined with gold. He tried
the key he held. <i>It fitted!</i> A turn, the heavy
door was unlocked, and he put the key in his
pocket. He turned the handle, pushed the door
open just enough to squeeze through, and it
swung to behind him.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>There had been a great commotion in Fairyland.
The gnomes—who formed the Opposition
Party—had turned disloyal and wanted a republic;
whereupon the King, hurt in his dignity,
insisted upon abdicating. In fact, he was tired of
power, and glad of the excuse to resign. In spite
of the prayers and entreaties of those who desired
him to remain in office he returned to the Treasury
the Golden Key, together with the crown and other
royal jewels, and, to the concern of every one who
wasn't a gnome, went forth to play skittles—his
sole interest and only hobby.</p>
<p>Of all the regalia, the most precious object was
the Golden Key, for whoever held it was made
King of Fairyland by virtue of its possession; and
it was ordained that it could only be parted with at<span class="pagenum">[190]</span>
the monarch's free will. It could be surrendered;
it could not be withdrawn.</p>
<p>So the old King deposited it in the Treasury,
leaving his people—the faithful and unfaithful
alike—to fight out the matter as best they could.
In so doing they fought their very best. The
quarrel between the gnomes and the fairies waxed
furious in their patriotic eagerness to get their own
way. But while blows were exchanged and
relations were otherwise strained, and the Monarchists,
generally speaking, were highly annoyed,
and the Republicans were even more perturbed,
the latter suddenly lay low, and hatched an
audacious plot. So daring was it that it made
their grotesque and stunted little bodies tremble
as they thought of it, and their gnarled feet
shook in their shoes.</p>
<p>This plot involved nothing less than the theft
of the Golden Key. The symbol of royalty was to
be taken to the mountain top and flung far away
outside the boundaries of Fairydom, and a republic
proclaimed and acclaimed. A monarchy could no
longer be possible.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the guileless fairies, recking nothing
of this, and rejoicing in what they thought to be
the discomfiture of their adversaries, chose the
popular Crown Princess for the succession, and
began with much pomp and circumstance the cere<span class="pagenum">[191]</span>mony
of investing her with the Golden Key. They
had proceeded up to a certain point when, to their
horror and amazement, on opening the treasure
chamber to bear the symbol in solemn procession
upon a velvet cushion, as the law demanded, they
discovered that <i>the Golden Key was gone</i>!</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z240" id="z240"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z240.jpg" width-obs="455" height-obs="600" alt="Lay low, and hatched an audacious plot" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Lay low, and hatched an audacious plot</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Cedric suddenly guessed that he possessed the
key to Fairyland. For he found himself in a sun-bathed
valley with clouds of rainbow hues in the
azure sky above. In the distance he beheld a rippling
lake of golden water, on the borders of which
stood a palace made of gems gathered from the
circling mountains which stood as sentinels around
the valley. Down these mountains meandered little
golden rills that fed the lake. Nothing stirred but
gaily coloured birds, which fluttered amongst the
blossoming fruit trees and the rich and dainty
flowers.</p>
<p>All around the lake, as though from nowhere,
sprang crowds of fairies, gnomes, pixies, and
sprites; they were landing from the tiny flower-decked
craft, forming processions, hurrying in and
out of the palace—presenting to Cedric's astonished
gaze a scene of wonderful animation and pretty
bustle. Great preparations were apparently proceeding.</p>
<p>After a time they gathered together in waiting<span class="pagenum">[192]</span>
crowds, which stretched a long distance on either
side of the approach to the shimmering edifice, and
the words came to him with curious distinctness—</p>
<p>"Hail! Cedric, King of Fairyland!"</p>
<p>"K-K-King of Fairyland!" stammered the boy
in bewilderment. "Am I King of Fairyland?
You're only making fun—I've only been flying
my kite: I can't be a king."</p>
<p>"Of course your young Majesty has got the
key?" remarked a funny little old man at his
elbow.</p>
<p>"Yes," replied Cedric, starting at the suddenness
of the answer to his question, but vastly surprised,
and amused too, at the quaint way in which he
was addressed.</p>
<p>"Very well, then. Of course we all know you
must have found it, or you couldn't be here. I'd
far rather you had it than I; experience has taught
me that much. Good morning, young gentleman;
may it bring you more pleasure than it brought
me," and with a chuckle the little old man bowed
himself away.</p>
<p>Cedric had no time to think, for a gorgeous
equipage stopped just in front of him. The door
flew open; the boy, guessing what was expected of
him, quickly stepped inside, and, wondering at this
grandeur, the new King of Fairyland was borne
swiftly through the serried ranks of his bowing
<span class="pagenum">[193]</span>subjects to the doors of his magnificent palace.
Soldiers presented arms, a national air was played
on lutes and harps, and Cedric passed through the
gates, followed by as many of the populace as
had tickets of admission to witness the most
wonderful coronation you never saw.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z244" id="z244"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z244.jpg" width-obs="445" height-obs="600" alt=""Of course your young Majesty has got the key?"" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"Of course your young Majesty has got the key?"</p>
<p class="h3">PART II</p>
<p>In the throne-room, on a throne of diamonds,
Cedric sat in royal robes, and on his head was a
golden crown, which had been taken, as being
about his size, from the dome of the Crown Palace.
Grouped near him were the aristocracy of Fairyland—prominent
among them the Crown Princess,
and her great friend and neighbour, the Queen of
Gossamerland, both young, both beautiful, and
both unmarried.</p>
<p>When the ceremony was over, and the shout,
"Hail! Cedric, King of Fairyland!" echoed once
more, the boy, prompted by the Lord High Chamberlain,
rose and bowed his delighted acknowledgments,
while the crowds outside cheered for all
they were worth. He kept standing, in order to
receive the general homage, with the quiet confidence
of one who had been used to that sort of
thing every day of his life.</p>
<p>Little did he guess that the populace of Fairyland,
who were acclaiming him, down to the tiniest<span class="pagenum">[194]</span>
sprite, were far from pleased to have a mortal on
their throne—that the gnomes were plotting, <i>with</i>
the fairies this time, to depose him, for the key
had come back to their land, and was never likely
to be stolen again. They had all put their heads
together how to make Cedric part with it of his
own free will, according to law, and they knew
they had to accomplish their end by their wits, as
no other means held good. It was their desire now
to elect their ruler by putting the matter to the
country to vote, and thus please both parties.
The gnomes, who had had time to consider it,
were dumbfounded at their stupidity in having
thrown the key into Mortal-land, and they regretted
it when it was too late.</p>
<p>A fair lady, wearing a tiny crown, stepped forward
and curtsied low before her monarch. It
was the Crown Princess. Cedric wanted to detain
her; but it wasn't etiquette, and she smiled to
herself as she swept past with her maids of honour.
She was followed by her dark friend, who kissed
Cedric's hand. Her face was more beautiful than
any he had ever beheld. In obedience to his wish
that she should speak to him, the little Queen of
Gossamerland smiled and said—</p>
<p>"Sire, I have often heard of mortals, but never
saw one before. It is said that some of them never
dream of coming to our country, that others often<span class="pagenum">[195]</span>
do, but they never come really, you know. Your
Majesty is the very first. Will you graciously tell
me how it feels?"</p>
<p>Cedric laughed, and coughed nervously, and
replied that "it felt very pleasant and comfor'ble."</p>
<p>She turned her head as she withdrew, and
whispered anxiously—</p>
<p>"<i>Do not part with the Golden Key</i>, as you value
your throne."</p>
<p>The words, and still more the impressive and
forceful manner, of the dazzling little Queen
puzzled him. He determined, nevertheless, to
follow advice so fatefully given, but he couldn't
help pondering over it; and his face was graver
as he bowed to the lords and ladies and high-born
gnomes who had the honour of introduction.</p>
<p>Escorted by the whole of the brilliant company,
King Cedric left his palace in order formally "to
do some good deed"—which was a part of the
ancient ceremonial. He was to open a new institution
for fairies who had lost their arts and
crafts and livelihoods too. When they arrived at
the building it was announced that the key which
was to have been presented to him was not forthcoming.
Consternation, real or assumed—(<i>Cedric</i>
didn't believe in it)—followed on the strange declaration
of those who were responsible for the
carelessness. Amid profuse apologies, the Lord<span class="pagenum">[196]</span>
High Chamberlain begged the King that he would
use the Golden Key—which, being a master key,
could of course take the place of any other.</p>
<p>Acting on the advice given him, and alive to the
evident importance of retaining the key (which
was also the key to his position), Cedric politely
and graciously refused: at which there was considerable
sensation. Arguments and persuasion
were in vain, but at last he yielded to the entreaties
of those needy fairies who badly wanted
their institution. Himself he inserted the key,
which was found to fit, as was to be expected.
But when he wanted to withdraw it, it had stuck,
and was immovable—the lock had been carefully
arranged that it should be so. Triumph and
amusement were on every face except his.</p>
<p>"I have been betrayed," muttered Cedric, and
he wondered what on Fairyland he should do next.
There was silence—a breathless interval—during
which the boy never relaxed hold on his treasured
possession.</p>
<p>"Cut away the lock!" he commanded. At
this order the people murmured loudly, but soon
fell into silence; for they were bound by their
constitution to obey their monarch. In a few
moments the Golden Key was again safe in Cedric's
pocket, and mistrust was in his heart, as it has been
in that of nearly every king who ever reigned.<span class="pagenum">[197]</span></p>
<p>The coronation ceremony was over, and the company
had dispersed, so Cedric found himself at
liberty to saunter forth. He hadn't proceeded
more than a few yards in the brilliant landscape
when a Rabbit—renowned for his white gloves—bounded
up to him and humbly begged it might
be his Majesty's pleasure to receive some famous
members of Animal Fairyland who were anxious
to render homage. Cedric replied royally with a
dignified nod, and followed the creature as it led
the way to a clearing in a forest close by. Here,
explained the Rabbit, the animals were allowed full
liberty to say what they pleased—but beyond the
boundaries they were only able to make strange
noises which their own families alone could understand:
it was thus that the secrets of Fairyland
were kept from the world outside.</p>
<p>Upon a throne made from a cutting of the
famous beanstalk grown for the original Jack
King Cedric seated himself, and awaited events.</p>
<p>He hadn't long to wait, for a Fox trotted up and
bade him welcome to Animal Fairyland. Wonderfully
tactful for his age, Cedric told the Fox
that he recognised him, having read about him in
Grimm's tales, and remarked—</p>
<p>"You were so good, Mr. Fox, to the poor
horse!"</p>
<p>At which the Fox sniggered shyly and withdrew.<span class="pagenum">[198]</span>
This pleasing reminiscence gave unbounded satisfaction
to the various animals that had quickly
gathered around.</p>
<p>Cedric's inquiry of the Wolf as to his digestion
after that little flirtation with Red Riding Hood's
grandmother was also considered prodigiously appropriate,
and was greeted with cordial appreciation.
His quick recognition, too, of the Three Bears
added greatly to his popularity, but he wasn't so
happy in his remark to a stately Swan who came
up and bowed.</p>
<p>"You're glad to have got rid of those ducks, I
s'pose?" he observed.</p>
<p>"And pray, sire, where did you hear about that?
It's a chapter of my early history I hoped had
never got about!"</p>
<p>"Oh, I have read all about the Ugly Duckling!"
replied Cedric, persuaded that the information
would fill the Swan with pride.</p>
<p>"Why, you don't mean to say—! Do you—do
you tell me that—" screamed the Swan furiously,
almost choked with indignation, and it could not
finish its sentences. Then in a quieter, but still
in an angry, voice, it continued: "To think of it!
Why, I plumed myself on its having been kept
out of print! So that family scandal has got
round after all!" And in defiance of all etiquette,
the swan turned tail and waddled off.<span class="pagenum">[199]</span></p>
<p>"The audience is over!" cried Cedric indignantly.</p>
<p>Whereupon the deputation hastily withdrew.</p>
<p>"Guide, sire?" inquired a gnome, suddenly presenting
himself and going down on one knee.
"Guide to the fairy ring?"</p>
<p>"Yes, please," and he followed him to where
a number of peacocks stood on guard with their
tails magnificently spread.</p>
<p>"Have you twopence?" asked the guide
anxiously.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure," answered Cedric, fumbling in
his pocket.</p>
<p>"If not, I'm afraid you can't be let in, sire."
The gnome was looking afraid that the king might
not fall, after all, into the little trap he was preparing.</p>
<p>"Not let me in? Can't I order myself through?"</p>
<p>"No 'paper' allowed! You can only be let in
by paying the entrance fee."</p>
<p>"I never heard of a king paying twopence to
go in anywhere," said Cedric, drawing himself up.
He was not unreasonable, he felt, but he was a
little hurt in his dignity as sovereign.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid your Majesty can't go against the
Office of Works."</p>
<p>"S'pose I ordered the peacocks to be removed,"
said Cedric, growing hot at the undignified position<span class="pagenum">[200]</span>
of a monarch unable to produce the price of
a Bath bun; "s'pose I ordered their necks to be
wrung, or something?"</p>
<p>"It would be deplorably irregular and excessively
unconstitutional."</p>
<p>Cedric was taken at a disadvantage by the length
of the words; but a lucky discovery relieved him.</p>
<p>"Here, I've got four ha'pennies. But I call it
mean that I, of all people, shouldn't be allowed
in free."</p>
<p>"It's simply to show the person is well off, and
to keep the place select—it's the same for all. In
the case of royalty the amount is returned in cash
at the end of the performance."</p>
<p>Cedric entered alone, and found the fairy ring
far beyond anything he could have dreamed of.
Thousands of little fairies, wearing cunning arrangements
of petals from the fruit blossoms, had joined
hands and were dancing round joyously, raising
tiny clouds of yellow dust, which enveloped them as
with a golden mist. As he came in sight they burst
into song, and manœuvring cleverly until he was
in their midst, they showed what they could do in
grace of movement and harmony of sound, till, quite
enchanted, he felt he could remain there for ever.</p>
<p>"Go on! go on!" he shouted, clapping his
hands with delight, for the little crew had come to
a standstill.<span class="pagenum">[201]</span></p>
<p>A pixie detached himself, and kneeling, begged
his Majesty to give him the Golden Key.</p>
<p>"What for?" asked Cedric, surprised.</p>
<p>"To wind up the proceedings," came the reply
of the fairies, who had eagerly drawn near.</p>
<p>"Can't," said Cedric.</p>
<p>"<i>Do!</i>" said the prettiest of the fairies in chorus.</p>
<p>Hardly knowing what he was about, so much
did he want to see the entrancing dance all over
again, he held out the key to the applicant; but,
noticing a peculiar gleam dart from the pixie's
eyes, he quickly snatched it back again and replaced
it in his pocket, and coming to himself
found that the peacocks were once more between
him and the fairy ring; that twopence was in his
hand, and there was no one at all about. Then he
realised how narrow his escape had been. "Uneasy
lies the head that wears a crown." Cedric knew
that Shakespeare had written that; but he had
never expected to learn the truth of it from experience.</p>
<p>He lay on the grass, and pondered what he had
better do in the trying political situation. "What's
the use of being King of Fairyland if I have to be
plotted against every hour of the day?" muttered
Cedric disconsolately.</p>
<p>"No use at all."</p>
<p>They were the soft tones of the little Queen of<span class="pagenum">[202]</span>
Gossamerland. She sat down next to him and put
her tiny hand on his arm.</p>
<p>"What's to be done, then?"</p>
<p>"It's very simple," she rejoined. "Give me the
Golden Key. You'll be king no longer, but you'll
have no responsibilities or anxieties."</p>
<p>"That won't be much fun for me," replied
Cedric. "Besides, what will you do with it?"</p>
<p>"The right thing. I'll give it to the Crown
Princess, the rightful heir. That will save the
country a general election, and fairy tranquillity
will reign once more."</p>
<p>"Why did you warn me not to part with it?
And now you ask me for it!"</p>
<p>"I wanted to get it myself as soon as you would
give it up, so that I might deliver it to my dear
friend, who will become a queen like me. Then
she can choose her husband; and, after being her
bridesmaid, I suppose I shall be married too."</p>
<p>"Will you marry me?" asked Cedric bluntly.</p>
<p>"Why, you'd have to live on honey!" replied
the Gossamer Queen, with a smile, half sweet,
half malicious. Cedric turned it over in his mind,
but not for long.</p>
<p>"Give me the key," she begged coaxingly.</p>
<p>"Yes—but," argued the boy, "it's worth a lot,
you know: I wouldn't so much mind swopping
it; but——"<span class="pagenum">[203]</span></p>
<p>The Queen of Gossamerland, tired of wasting
time, put out her hand so prettily, and pursed up
her lips so sweetly and daintily, that he <i>did</i> give
her the Golden Key, and she gave a kiss as a
receipt. Then she said that the Office of Works
would send for the crown, and flitted away.</p>
<p>Cedric prepared to remove his crown, with
a sigh to think he had no longer any right to it,
but first he ran to the stream that slowly floated
by, and took a good look at himself. He smiled
with pride. "I must say," he remarked confidentially
to himself, "I really do look every inch
a king! But, after all, I couldn't go to school with
this on—the fellows would be sure to notice it."
He started at the bare idea, and laid down the
crown with a feeling of "good riddance" as profound
and grateful as ever King James II. could
have experienced. He felt no other pang than that
of dignity too quickly swept away.</p>
<p>He placed it on the grass, confident that the
Gossamer Queen would send for it at once, and he
began to think of his own return. "Now to find
that door!" he exclaimed, and looked about him
to ask the way. The golden lake, the glittering
palace, the sentry of mountains—all were there;
but no living being was in sight.</p>
<p>"Queer place, <i>I</i> call it," said Cedric to himself.
"No cake shops, only honey, and no policemen<span class="pagenum">[204]</span>
to tell the way." He wandered on in the hope of
coming sooner or later, somehow and somewhere,
to the door.</p>
<p>After a time he met the funny little old man
who had accosted him on his arrival. He was
gazing hard at the boy, looking right through him
as though he were not there.</p>
<p>"Will you kindly show me the door?" said
Cedric eagerly.</p>
<p>"Turn you out, do you mean?" asked ex-King
the First.</p>
<p>"I want to turn myself out, if I can," replied Cedric.</p>
<p>"Already? Good morning, young gentleman,
ex-King the Second. There's a pair of us."</p>
<p>"Please show me the door."</p>
<p>"When is a door not a-jar?" asked the out-o'-work
sovereign.</p>
<p>"Don't ask me riddles. Show me the door!"
ordered Cedric in his best royal-command manner,
and looked so threatening that the little old man
quickly pointed over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Cedric walked off in that direction without
a word, and to his joy he discovered the door just
a little way in front of him.</p>
<p>"Thank goodness!" he exclaimed, as he ran up
to it—and then he suddenly realised that he no
longer possessed the Golden Key with which to
open it. How was he to escape? He turned and
<span class="pagenum">[205]</span>looked back at what now was an immeasurable
distance—so very far away did it seem—and there
was once more bustling activity about the palace.
Another Coronation ceremony was beginning all
over again.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z258" id="z258"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z258.jpg" width-obs="548" height-obs="573" alt=""I really do look every inch a king!"" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">"I really do look every inch a king!"</p>
<p>The boy flung himself against the door, and
banged and kicked at it with all his might. It was
of no use.</p>
<p>"Oh, the key, the key!" he cried. "If they
would only spare it from their silly triumphing for
a moment, and let me out!"</p>
<p>He put his eye to the keyhole, and with longing
gaze he saw his kite on the spot he had left it,
with its lazy tail gently stirred by the breeze.</p>
<p>Once more he looked back, despairing of help;
the same animated fairy scene met his gaze—all so
indifferent to his helplessness. Grasping the handle
of the door in his hand he shook it in desperation.</p>
<p>Then he remembered. He quietly turned the
handle, and walked out!</p>
<p>The sea breeze blew freshly as Cedric freed his
kite from the bush, and when he looked back there
was Land's End just as he had seen it before.
"And Fairyland's end, too," he muttered; for
all trace of the iron door had disappeared after he
passed through. He stared in astonishment, and
couldn't make it out; and the adventure remained
a mystery all the days of his life.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[206]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="ROSELLA" id="ROSELLA"></SPAN>ROSELLA</h2>
<p>"Rosella!"</p>
<p>"Yes, Mother?" And a dark-eyed little girl
looked down over the banisters into the hall.</p>
<p>"I want you to get ready quickly and go to the
Moat House, and persuade Grandfather to come
back with you this afternoon instead of waiting
until the evening."</p>
<p>"But if he invites me to tea with him?"</p>
<p>"Don't stay, dearie. I want you back before
dusk, and it gets dark so soon now; and you must
help me to tie the crackers on the Christmas-tree.
It's still sunny, so make haste."</p>
<p>In a few minutes the child was tripping downstairs,
smart and cosy in her red coat, hat, and
muff, with all the importance of her nine years.</p>
<p>"Go the shortest way—you know; keep to
the path across the moor," continued her mother,
"or you might fall over bits of rock under the
snow."</p>
<p>"Do you know, Mother, I always wonder, when
there's snow, where all the grass is and what's
underneath? All killed by the freeze?"<span class="pagenum">[207]</span></p>
<p>"Oh no. The snow keeps everything nice and
warm," replied her mother with a kiss.</p>
<p>Davis, the portly butler, advanced and opened
the front door.</p>
<p>"Being <i>above</i> the snow doesn't keep <i>me</i> nice and
warm, Mother," called back Rosella as she ran laughing
down the steps into the icy north wind, which
blew her dark hair out to its full length and
heightened the warm colour in her cheeks.</p>
<p>"Make haste, and you'll be there in half-an-hour."
Mrs. Silverton returned to her boudoir, and standing
at the bow-window followed with loving eyes the
graceful little red figure, until at a bend in the road it
turned, gaily waved a farewell, and was lost to sight.</p>
<p>When Rosella reached the moor the high wind
was against her, blowing her frock between her
knees and making her eyes water. "This way will
be very difficult and unpleasant," she thought to
herself. "I'd far rather go round by the hill, and
then, too, I could see if Grandfather has got the
Snow Castle on the top finished and ready for to-morrow—I
forgot about that when Mother said
to go across the moor. I should so like to see it—I
wonder if I might!"</p>
<p>She stood irresolute for a moment, then left the
straight path and started running, in order to save
time, in the other direction: thus making for the
hill which she intended to climb.<span class="pagenum">[208]</span></p>
<p>The sun became obscured, and what was worse,
down from the leaden yellow sky tiny snowflakes
began to flutter as though in play, rapidly increasing
in size and volume until, as if by magic, Rosella
found herself enveloped in a blinding snowstorm
that obscured the landscape, and decided her to return
home. But returning home was not so easy as
turning herself round, and she soon had the growing
conviction that no matter which way she turned
she was lost, utterly lost: for all that she could see
was that she no longer seemed to be dressed in red,
but was thickly coated in white.</p>
<p>Twice she tripped over the uneven ground, but
she stumbled along hopefully and bravely, and
even tried to sing, only the snowflakes got into
her mouth and made her shut it up tight.</p>
<p>Rosella had no idea where she was, and she
felt very tired. How she wished now she had
gone straight forward! There would have been
no difficulty about that. By good luck she came
close up to a large piece of overhanging rock; she
did not remember ever seeing it before, so she was
more than ever confused as to the whereabouts of
the hill or of anything; but it was good for shelter.
She placed her muff in a niche above her head, and
sat down to rest awhile and consider what she had
best do.</p>
<p>The wind howled around her only partially<span class="pagenum">[209]</span>
sheltered retreat, and myriads of snowflakes, drifting
in, fell softly about her, creeping closer and
closer, covering her boots, lying thickly on her
frock, on her shoulders, drifting, too, into her
eyes and making them blink, and powdering her
hair with white. And she felt too cold to think—too
cold to move.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>After a while Rosella exclaimed: "This won't
do. I must get up from here. It's such a dreadfully
cold place!" And she determined to try and
go on, if only to keep herself warm. So she shook
herself, took down her muff, and went forth.</p>
<p>It was snowing as much as ever, but Rosella
found that the ground was no longer flat. She
was on the hillside, and as she climbed she
wondered anxiously how she should know which
side to come down, once she was on the top, in
order to find the Moat House. Then she smiled
as it occurred to her how much she must now look
like the tiny, red-hooded, toy figure in the glass
paper weight at home which showed itself enveloped
in a miniature snowstorm when it was
shaken. She plodded on higher and higher.</p>
<p>The weather was clearing when Rosella stood
on the summit of the hill, and she was lost in
admiration as she gazed at the largest, grandest
Snow Castle she could never have imagined.<span class="pagenum">[210]</span>
Before it, too, stood a Snow Man splendidly
proportioned and set up. To her intense astonishment,
as she timidly approached he bowed
politely.</p>
<p>Rosella curtsied instinctively, then laughed as
she went round to see where he had broken.
But he wasn't broken at all, for he turned too,
faced her, and said—</p>
<p>"I need hardly introduce myself, Rosella. I
presume you recognise King Frost when you
meet him in any guise. You wished to see
my Castle—and gave yourself a polite invitation.
You are welcome!"</p>
<p>She was so taken aback with the suddenness of
all this that she could find no words for reply.
So she made another, much lower, curtsey, which
she knew to be correct in the presence of Royalty,
then she took his proffered arm. And the tall
white figure and the little white figure mounted
the white steps, went through the massive gateway,
and proceeded down a long, narrow passage
lighted with a ruddy glow from the high windows,
which were glazed with something red, transparent,
and glistening. It was much warmer here, and
Rosella noticed that the snow had melted from
her clothes, and that her companion also appeared
to be dressed in red. His white face with its
white beard and white hair wore quite a jovial<span class="pagenum">[211]</span>
air, and on top of it was set a crown of carved
ice that reminded her of their chandelier in the
drawing-room.</p>
<p>He did the honours by offering her some snow
broth, which she declined. Then she thought she
ought to say something, so she remarked, with a
touch of family pride—</p>
<p>"I had no idea that Grandfather had built such
a fine place as this."</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> think the credit is entirely mine," protested
her companion with an amused chuckle. "<i>I</i>
provide the material, you see, or there would
have been no 'fine place' at all. See my
point?"</p>
<p>"Yes, your Majesty," she assented, for she knew
it wasn't polite to argue—especially with a royal
personage.</p>
<p>"This way!" he exclaimed, and led her down
another passage on the right, and halted to push
open a swing door of ice a little way, and genially
patted her on the cheek—which was kindly meant
no doubt, but his touch nipped her with cold so
that she shivered.</p>
<p>"I shall be on guard outside. If you want me,
call me!" Almost as soon as she heard the words
the heavy door swung to behind her, and she found
herself alone in a great, white, glistening hall with
high arches open to the air. Evidently it was<span class="pagenum">[212]</span>
scarcely snowing now, for only little isolated
flakes came fluttering in. But in their falling
they changed into little shadowy girls and boys
in white, who danced playfully around her, and
their cold white draperies swept lightly about her
face, reminding her of the blinding snowstorm she
had passed through. But she only wanted to get
away to her grandfather now.</p>
<p>Rosella sheltered her face with her muff and
ran the gauntlet of the persistent little snowflakes.
In a corner she espied a spiral staircase which
seemed to lead up into one of the battlemented
towers she had noticed outside, and she imagined
it a way of escape, so up she ran. The steps were
very slippery, but she got up to the top, where,
through a narrow loophole, she saw King Frost
down below, standing there just as she first saw
him when she thought him only a Snow Man.
More anxious than ever to know how to get to
her grandfather, she called out—</p>
<p>"Your Majesty!" and repeated loudly the two
words over and over again, for he either would not
or could not hear her. And what was very curious,
there was an echo which called back "Rosella!
Rosella!" in the same anxious tone.</p>
<p>Talking was clearly of no use; she must do something.
So she tried to squeeze her muff through
the aperture in order to drop it on his head and<span class="pagenum">[213]</span>
attract his attention—but it would not go through.
It stuck there and closed out her view. Try as
she would she could not release it; and with a gulp
in her throat she realised she would have to leave
it. Her hands grew terribly cold without it, and
it was too draughty to remain there.</p>
<p>From the landing on which she stood steps led
up higher, so she proceeded to explore, and found
herself in an octagonal turret chamber. "I suppose
it serves me right, and I <i>am</i> lost, <i>and</i> there's
no one to help me!" sighed Rosella.</p>
<p>"Oh yes there is!"</p>
<p>"Whose voice is that?" she asked. She could
see no one—but at the same moment a sunbeam
pierced through an aperture, pointed straight at
what appeared to be a lift behind a slender
column, and then faded away. It <i>was</i> a lift,
made of ice and snow, as was everything else in
the Castle. Rosella entered it and took a seat.
The lift at once began gently and slowly to go
down, down, first into the foundations of the Castle,
and then into the interior of the hill right down
under the snow, till it stopped in a Grotto lined
with cobwebs and suffused with a mysterious green
light. There was a soft, singing sound, as though
made by the wind. In front was a frozen lake, and
the ice of it was green from the same strange light.</p>
<p>"I must try and find my way to Grandfather,"<span class="pagenum">[214]</span>
said Rosella vaguely as she wandered about the
Grotto, looking about her for a way out.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Mrs. Silverton kept glancing anxiously at the
clock and at the snowstorm. Davis entered.
"Madam," said he, with an usually solemn face,
"Mr. Silverton has telephoned again from the
Moat House that Miss Rosella hasn't arrived."</p>
<p>"Then she must have lost her way!" exclaimed
her mother, now thoroughly alarmed. "Though
I don't see how she could, keeping straight across
the moor to the Moat House gate at the end of the
path. We must set out, Davis, and find her."</p>
<p>"Difficult this weather, Madam, if our young
lady is lost on the moor."</p>
<p>"Is it still so bad?"</p>
<p>"The storm's not so thick as it was. I'll go
immediately. There's no time to be lost, to my
thinking, Madam."</p>
<p>"Yes, we'll go at once, Davis."</p>
<p>Mrs. Silverton, pale with anxiety, sent other
messengers in various directions, and then started
off herself. On the moor she met another search
party headed by old Mr. Silverton and his faithful
collie dog. And the moor rang with anxious cries
of "Rosella! Rosella!" uttered by whitened shadowy
figures that looked like phantoms in the falling snow.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[215]</span></p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>"I <i>must</i> try and find my way to Grandfather,"
repeated Rosella falteringly, realising that she didn't
know in the least how to proceed. She never had
a notion that a Snow Castle was so intricate inside,
with a hall, a lift, a grotto, and things; indeed, she
had always imagined for no particular reason that
it had no inside at all; "but of course," she now
argued, "if it has an outside it <i>must</i> have an inside,
or it wouldn't be an outside." But it was much
more startling when she looked up and found that
she was by no means alone: the cobwebs were all
inhabited. Inhabited—not by ugly spiders, but by
the wee-est little baby-fairies with the wee-est gossamer
wings, swaying in their cobweb hammocks
in all attitudes, fast asleep, soothed by the lullaby
hummed by the wind.</p>
<p>"This must be where they are bred!" cried
Rosella, in an ecstasy of admiration and delight.</p>
<p>"This is Fairy Spring's nursery," explained a
beautiful Sprite, appearing suddenly at her elbow
like a little bright sunbeam. "King Frost is the
ground landlord, you know, and allows all her
young things to sleep here and keep warm."</p>
<p>"And who are you, please?" inquired the Sprite's
young visitor.</p>
<p>"I am Love of Goodwill, and my father's name
is Christmas."</p>
<p>"I know you by name quite well, and am so<span class="pagenum">[216]</span>
glad to see you. Perhaps you would kindly help
me to find my way?"</p>
<p>"If you keep on going to the right, when you see
the snowdrops' mother, there you will find your
landmark."</p>
<p>"Oh, do please tell me more clearly. What did
you say? Tell me where I"—but Rosella was
again alone in the green grotto with the sleeping
baby-fairies in their swaying hammocks, and the
soft music of the wind. "Surely there can't be any
grown-up snowdrops at Christmas—it's too early!—and
I shall be losing my way for weeks!" continued
Rosella. Nevertheless, she kept on turning
to the right through upward passages first of rock,
then of sand, in which were embedded deep growing
roots, then of soil with its minerals, broken up
leaves, and corpses of insects which she didn't like
at all; then through a passage lined with true red
soil, where little grubs were lying fast asleep in
their nests.</p>
<p>"You ugly grubby little things!" remarked
Rosella as she passed them.</p>
<p>"They are only lying low at present. They will
be lovely Painted Ladies and visit the court of Fairy
Spring," replied Love of Goodwill, hovering again at
her side. "And look! There are the baby snowdrops
asleep in their earthy cots. They, too, will
awake soon and get up. I helped their mother to<span class="pagenum">[217]</span>
get up as she was in such a hurry to see the world.
I'm afraid she will have got nipped by King Frost
for her impatience. Farewell—I must go and see
what is happening."</p>
<p>Rosella followed the sunbeam—into which the
Sprite had vanished—and at once felt the keen air
blowing on her face, and knew she was above ground
once more. Everything was all white again. She
sat down upon a piece of rock to rest, and noticed
the sunbeam pointing straight at a little woe-begone
snowdrop sticking up out of the snow before her.
And to her joy the Snow Man was close by calling
"Rosella! Rosella!" in the echo's anxious tone she
had heard before—so he must have wanted her then,
badly.</p>
<p>"Yes, your Majesty!" she murmured.</p>
<p>He bent over her kindly. "There, little lady,"
he continued, "drink some of this now!" and something
cold yet stinging was poured gently down her
throat.</p>
<p>"Thank you, your Majesty. I did feel tired and
queer, but your snow broth has made me all right."
She said it quite gratefully. Then her eyes opened
wide and she cried in amazement—</p>
<p>"Grandfather! Why it's <i>you</i>! You were the
Snow Man all the time! And look! there's my
muff up there that I left in the wall!"</p>
<p>"But for that sticking up we might never have<span class="pagenum">[218]</span>
found our little treasure," replied old Mr. Silverton.
He picked her up and, holding her aloft, showed her
to her anxious mother, who came hurrying on the
scene.</p>
<p>"Don't shiver so, dearie," exclaimed Mrs. Silverton,
passionately embracing the child, as hot tears
dropped on her daughter's face. "You must be
perished with cold, but this nice sunshine which has
come out now will do you good."</p>
<p>"I didn't feel cold. It was quite nice and warm
under the snow as you said, Mother—and so
wonderful!"</p>
<p>Davis carried her home in triumph at the head of
the procession; and after precautionary remedies
had been taken, Rosella sat cosily tucked up in the
big arm-chair in front of the huge log fire, thinking
over all she had seen. Of course she confessed to
her temptation to go astray, and was readily forgiven.
Then, as Mr. Silverton insisted he had never in his
life been any one else but himself, Rosella gaily recounted
her meeting with the Snow Man at his
Snow Castle. "And King Frost said, Grandfather,"
concluded Rosella, "that the credit of the Castle
was his for providing the snow and not yours."</p>
<p>"Bless my soul!" cried old Mr. Silverton. "And
he was right there, because I've had nothing to do
with any Snow Castle or any Snow Man—there was
some talk, but nothing came of it."<span class="pagenum">[219]</span></p>
<p>"But I was King Frost's visitor there, don't you
see," insisted Rosella, smiling. "So I know that's
only one of your jokes, Grandfather."</p>
<p>He smiled too and wiped his spectacles.</p>
<p>The next morning Rosella volunteered to fetch
her grandfather and introduce him to King Frost.
So the two climbed the hill. But no vestige of
Snow Castle or Snow Man was there.</p>
<p>"There, you see!" said her grandfather, laughing,
as he genially patted her on the cheek. How cold
his hand felt! It nipped her with cold, so that she
shivered. Yet the weather had changed, and it was
more like a sunny day in spring than in midwinter.</p>
<p>She left old Mr. Silverton at his gate, and he
assured her with a kiss that he wasn't a bit disappointed
at the wonderful disappearance, but that it
was all certainly a very remarkable affair indeed.</p>
<p>Rosella thought so too. Then she turned and
walked thoughtfully home.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[220]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_CUCKOO_THAT_LIVED_IN_THE" id="THE_CUCKOO_THAT_LIVED_IN_THE"></SPAN>THE CUCKOO THAT LIVED IN THE CLOCK-HOUSE</h2>
<p>It was rather a ramshackle, badly-built wooden
house, in which the Cuckoo lived. Outside it
looked smart enough, but inside, repairs were badly
needed. It had been handed down from father to
son, and over the front door, which was at the top
of the house, stood a beautifully carved statue of
their ancestor, Sir Cuckoo de Cuckoo.</p>
<p>The Clock-House was situated not far from the
Dolls' House, backed by a flowery wall in a small
department of Nursery Land ruled over by Robert
and Lucy. Lucy was ground landlady of the
Clock-House, and it was her daily privilege to
wind up its affairs.</p>
<p>No one ever knocked at the Cuckoo's front door,
because it had no number; there was a round
dozen of numbers in the immediate neighbourhood.
The pendulum, whose tongue never ceased to wag
once it was wound up, remarked, that two firm
hands were required to keep things in order. As
to the chains, they regularly got weighed down<span class="pagenum">[221]</span>
under the strain of responsibility, and a heavy
weight it was.</p>
<p>So, as one could not summon the Cuckoo at
will, the only thing to do was to wait and see it
when it chose to appear, and then—as likely as
not, if nobody was about—Robert would seize
the opportunity to take pot-shots at it with his
pea-shooter. So far he had invariably missed.
Sometimes it kept an appointment with him
punctually at the hour, sometimes it didn't.
Occasionally, it came out at odd times, and then
remained indoors altogether. When that happened
for a more than usually long period, it was sure
to be because the poor Cuckoo felt indisposed in
its bellows; and when it became apparent that
something had gone wrong with the inmate of the
Clock-House, an entrance had to be effected by
the back door and a dose of oil administered.
Whereupon the front door would fly open and
the Cuckoo appear again on the threshold—it
never ventured further—bow to the multitude, or
to empty space, and pipe "Cuc—koo!" just as
many times as it felt inclined at the moment.</p>
<p>One fine afternoon in spring, when the Cuckoo
came out punctually, and went through its performance
of three bows with a Cuckoo call after
each salutation, there happened to be a fresh
inmate all alone in the nursery. This was<span class="pagenum">[222]</span>
Tabiatha, the new kitten, cosily reposing in her
new basket under the table. "Aha! Poultry!"
mewed Tabiatha, lying low, opening a lazy but
watchful eye, and gazing upwards. "Bless my
tail! You're a tender morsel, I'll be bound—small,
but a tit-bit!" So thought the kitten, with an
increasing feeling of longing in the chest. It had
sounded to Tabiatha like an echo of the call she
had heard so recently in the lane near the old farm
at home.</p>
<p>"I don't want to pop out any more!" said the
Cuckoo after re-entering the Clock-House. "I'm
bored to tears!" And it settled down in a corner
and looked very melancholy. "What with that
horrid boy, Robert, lurking about—and now a
kitten of all things! Why, life's not worth the
living! If ever I do pop out again, I should like
to pop out for good and all—stretch my wings and
fly away, right away, and see something of the
world!"</p>
<p>"Work! That's the cure for all woes!" solemnly
ticked the pendulum. "Look at me, I'm always
at it, with a good swinging stride." The hands
didn't explain their views—they were keeping far
apart, and were not on speaking terms. "Every
one is expected to do his duty," urged the pendulum.</p>
<p>"That was only meant for one day—not morning,<span class="pagenum">[223]</span>
noon, and night," argued the Cuckoo. "It's all
very well for a wagtail like you—but for a Cuckoo
with a soul above it—especially with a fine, well-trained
voice!"</p>
<p>"Every one must do his duty at all times. Yes,
look at me—but I fear you can't see me. Do
you follow me?" asked the pendulum jokingly.
Getting no reply, it ticked-tacked on, until the
Cuckoo felt quite distracted.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>"Listen to me, children," said their mother, entering
the nursery, when playtime had begun;
"Nurse has gone to lie down. She isn't very well
this afternoon. So at four o'clock put everything
away neatly; then make yourselves tidy, and come
downstairs, where you may have tea with me."</p>
<p>Robert and Lucy said they were sorry for Nurse,
but they smiled, and hopped about with delight
at the treat of tea downstairs. They promised to
do as they were told, and with muffled footsteps
hurried on the landing to open the gate and let their
mother out of their domain, and quietly closed it
to keep themselves in. Then they settled down in
the nursery to "Loto;" but as Lucy always won,
Robert tired of it. Card houses didn't answer
either, because it amused Robert not to build them,
but to shake the table when Lucy's structures were
in course of erection.<span class="pagenum">[224]</span></p>
<p>Their mother, busily writing in the drawing-room,
began to wonder why the children didn't come
downstairs; and tea was just being brought in, when
suddenly screams and cries were heard issuing from
the nursery, and she rushed upstairs in alarm.</p>
<p>There she found the nursery littered with things,
chairs in unusual places, some overturned, and Lucy
lying on the floor crying, with a cut on her lip, which
was bleeding. Robert had both stockings torn, and
was ruefully rubbing his knees. The little girl was
more frightened than hurt.</p>
<p>"Whatever has happened, Robert?" exclaimed
their mother as she helped Lucy to her feet, and
comforted her.</p>
<p>"I was hunting," he began to explain, "and she
was the gazelle, and I was chasing her from rock
to rock——"</p>
<p>"Jumping from the table on to the chairs and
back again," added Lucy in further explanation,
"and we both tumbled down!"</p>
<p>"Serve you both right for being so disobedient
as to jump on the furniture," replied their mother,
with placid satisfaction that matters were no worse.
"You ought to have been all tidied up, and downstairs
by now."</p>
<p>"It isn't time yet, surely, Mother!" The three
turned instinctively towards the Cuckoo clock. It
had stopped at three minutes to four.<span class="pagenum">[225]</span></p>
<p>"There now, Lucy, you silly!" cried her brother;
"if you hadn't forgotten to wind it up, we shouldn't
have had that beastly tumble, and shouldn't have
been late for tea."</p>
<p>"Come, dears, quickly, and I'll help make you
ready," said their mother; and they left the nursery
together.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>During the excitement Tabiatha had remained
unnoticed in her basket under the table, glad in all
the turmoil to be peaceful and forgotten. She
came out, stretched herself lazily, and soon began
to gambol about the room. The clock chain, lying
loosely on the ground, attracted her attention.
She crouched, then leapt at one bound upon it,
backed a little, touched it with her paw, lay on
her side, and played with the bright links with all
four paws and much enjoyment. With a sudden
movement she righted herself—made a spring
upwards, missed the chain and fell without hurt.
Liking this novel game, she leapt higher next time,
and alighted on a cushioned chair, scratched her way
up, jumped on to a bookcase, and then on to an
empty shelf. There was the chain within easy
reach. Putting out her paw, it caught instead in
a ring she hadn't noticed. To disentangle it she
reached over, lost her foothold, and, still caught in
the ring, found that the rattling chain was moving<span class="pagenum">[226]</span>
downwards with her weight until it deposited her
gently on the ground, greatly to her surprise.
Again she scrambled up the furniture in the same
way. Her paw was now on both chains. Suddenly
something swung backwards and forwards—</p>
<p>Tic—tac!</p>
<p>Tabiatha was for the moment dismayed, and,
arching her back, she stood rooted to the spot.</p>
<p>Tic—tac!</p>
<p>It came unpleasantly close to her, nearly touching
her nose each time, but she never budged an inch.
Whr-r-r-r-r!</p>
<p>Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc——</p>
<p>Tabiatha, rising to the occasion, and quick to seize
an opportunity or anything else, took her last and
only chance. She seized the poultry with both
paws—Crack! Snap! She lost her balance and fell
down, down, on to the cushioned chair. The
Cuckoo flew into the air, alighted on Tabiatha's
back, and bounded on to the ground. Tabiatha
forgot at once her escape from breaking her neck,
sprang after the Cuckoo lying there, turned it
over, paused, sniffed, found to her surprise that it
was not good to eat, that it hadn't even feathers, and
was only made of wood, turned it over again, and
began tapping it and pouncing on it until, suddenly
forgetting all about it, she cantered away sideways
with her tail curling in the air. She jumped into<span class="pagenum">[227]</span>
her basket, rolled herself up, soon purred herself
fast asleep, and looked the very picture of helpless
innocence.</p>
<p>The Cuckoo, out in the world at last, having
recovered from its first alarm at the useless stiffness
of its wings, waited for something to happen. As
nothing did happen, it thought the world a very dull
and stupid place, and concluded that, after all, work
was better than lying there helpless, idle, motionless,
and ridiculous. What was the use of its trained
voice now? It couldn't articulate a sound even to
summon help. It had no idea of the time, but the
sun was shining brightly when at last it found itself
carefully lifted and placed on a higher level.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>When Lucy entered the nursery that morning,
soon after Robert, he exclaimed—</p>
<p>"I say, Lucy! There's something fresh for
breakfast. Look on your plate!"</p>
<p>"Oh, my poor Cuckoo!" she cried in distress.
"You've shot it at last. You bad boy—I shan't
love you ever any more!"</p>
<p>But she did love him at once again, for it was a
fact that no one knew how ever the Cuckoo came
to be lying on the floor in the remote corner where
Nurse had picked it up. The cushioned chair was
in its place again—a long way off the clock. Every
one was mystified, and could not imagine how it had<span class="pagenum">[228]</span>
happened. But Tabiatha knew all about it, though
you would never have guessed it from her round,
innocent eyes as she sat licking first one velvety paw,
and then the other velvety paw, as though she were
washing them of any share in the mischief.</p>
<p>When the Clock-House was spring-cleaned, and
the Cuckoo duly set there on its legs again, it formed
the firm determination to remain at its post in the
future, and, with its Clock-House in order, it worked
ever after with regularity and good humour just
like one o'clock.</p>
<p>"Cuc—koo!" Bow, click.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[229]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="CHRISTMAS_AT_THE_COURT_OF" id="CHRISTMAS_AT_THE_COURT_OF"></SPAN>CHRISTMAS AT THE COURT OF KING JORUM</h2>
<p>The great evening had come, and every one in
Cosmopolis Castle was agog with excitement.
Eight months before, the Monarch had by Royal
Herald Extraordinary announced his intention of
making known his decision on Christmas Eve.
And Christmas Eve had come. No wonder every
one was agog with excitement, because King
Jorum was at last going to announce which of the
lovely ladies of the Court should be raised to the
position of the late Queen, his defunct consort.
She, poor soul, had possessed neither charm nor
beauty, and without her he had been quite happy
for the past two years, surrounded by smiling faces
and kept constantly amused by the ladies and
gentlemen of his Court.</p>
<p>He had a jovial nature, and was an indulgent
father to his two young daughters, especially fond
of the younger, Princess Veronica, for more delightful
sweetness, prettiness, and lovableness it
would be difficult to find in any other young
damsel of sixteen years old. So believed that fine<span class="pagenum">[230]</span>
young soldier, Prince Olivin; and so believed
every one else in the whole kingdom. Every one
else, with one exception—Princess Christobel, her
sister, older by one year. She had her own ideas
on the subject evidently, for she kept a surly
silence when her sister's praises were sung. People
said it was her jealousy, because she was plain-looking,
and sulky in expression and character;
and some did say she was secretly in love with
Prince Olivin herself.</p>
<p>Outside the castle this night the silent landscape
had been decorated, by order of King Frost, in
snow and crystal. Inside the castle the great halls
had been decorated, by order of King Jorum, in
holly and mistletoe. In the antechamber to the
ball-room stood the giant Christmas-tree, hung
with so many gifts of exquisite needlework from
the ladies of the Court for the King, and so many,
too, for Princess Veronica, that there was hardly
room for any other presents for any one else, so they
had to be stacked up in separate heaps on the floor.</p>
<p>There was one present on the tree, which was
handsomer and costlier than all the rest—it was a
pair of woollen boots so cunningly and dexterously
wrought with precious jewels that they were the
most beautiful ever seen or heard of. They were
the handiwork of Countess Spinx, and of all the
handsome ladies who were assembled in the ball-room<span class="pagenum">[231]</span>
where the candles in the chandeliers cast a
softening light on their charms, she seemed this
Christmas Eve the most unnerved, the most excited.
Courtiers came strolling in by twos and
threes, and the scene became animated and gay.</p>
<p>For as history shows, it was the custom at the
Court of King Jorum, by special decree of the
Monarch, that every man, woman, and child should
dress themselves in costumes of any distinctive
style they liked—whatever suited their fancy best.
(That was the origin, ages after, of the term—fancy-dress.)
There was thus no slavish following
of fashion, and consequently every one looked, or
fancied they looked, their very, very best, and were
thoroughly at ease in their quaint and, mostly,
fascinating attire.</p>
<p>"Here's Little Love!" exclaimed a bevy of
fair dames, pressing forward as a handsome child
stepped into their midst, dressed as Cupid, and
looking the realest of little Loves from the tips of
his tiny bare toes to the tips of his tiny bare wings.
He was the King's godson and pet.</p>
<p>"He's sure to know! Perhaps he can give us a
hint of the news!" exclaimed Countess Spinx with
eyes blazing eagerly as she placed herself in his
path, with her crook firmly planted on the ground:
she was dressed as a shepherdess, which showed to
advantage the curls on her fair neck, and her small<span class="pagenum">[232]</span>
feet in their high-heeled shoes. "Whisper to me!"
she coaxed; "or," with a pretty shake of the crook,
"I'll not let you pass!"</p>
<p>Little Love might have been deaf, looking
neither to the right nor to the left, so unconcernedly
did he continue his way stolidly on to
meet the procession of the King.</p>
<p>Countess Spinx bit her lip in vexation; the
other ladies merely shrugged their shoulders and
laughed; and the gentlemen stroked their mouths
to hide their smiles. Then all conversation was
smothered by the entry of the heralds with their
raised silver trumpets and their—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Par</i>—parraparpar—<i>pip</i>—ha!<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Par</i>—parraparpar—<i>paar</i>—<i>r</i>!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>This was immediately followed by the entry of
King Jorum holding Little Love by the hand.
The whole company bowed and curtsied very low—and
then stood at attention, breathless with expectation.</p>
<p>King Jorum was a very big man, with a very
big smile, and very big woollen boots. He always
wore woollen boots because, being his own Commander-in-chief,
he liked to stand at ease. So he
said, naturally in a very big voice—</p>
<p>"According to my promise it is now my pleasure
to announce to my Court here assembled my decision
with regard to your future Queen. After
<span class="pagenum">[233]</span>prolonged thought and study of face and character
I have come to the conclusion that there is not one
lady of my Court but who is quite lovely enough
and charming enough to become my royal consort.
Therefore to choose is difficult—so difficult that it is
impossible, and, being impossible, I shall never wed
again. I have spoken."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z288" id="z288"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z288.jpg" width-obs="464" height-obs="600" alt="Looking neither to the right nor to the left" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Looking neither to the right nor to the left</p>
<p>For a moment there was intense silence. Then
deafening cheers arose, and all faces were radiant
with delight, especially the faces of the ladies, who
thus remained equals, no jealousy being possible.
"Such tact!" said one. "How true!" cried another.
But one lady had slipped away unobserved. It
was Countess Spinx.</p>
<p>The gallant Monarch, unaccompanied, pleased at
the reception given to his declaration, smilingly
passed on to the antechamber, as was his wont,
for a private view of the Christmas-tree before the
revels commenced. King Jorum had detached
one of the woollen boots embroidered with pearls
and precious stones, anxiously tried it on, and was
admiring the effect, when Little Love appeared
and inquired if he would grant an interview to
Prince Olivin, who was waiting without.</p>
<p>"I am engaged," was his Majesty's impatient
reply.</p>
<p>"That, Sire, is what Prince Olivin wants to
be!"<span class="pagenum">[234]</span></p>
<p>"Eh, what's that? Put on this other boot for
me"—he unfastened it from the tree. "Ha! that's
very smart. Very attentive of the dear Countess.
Now show him in!"</p>
<p>The two young Princesses had not made their
appearance for the proclamation. They, as well as
Little Love, had been in the King's confidence, and
they did not intend to be present. However, as
the hour of the revels was fast approaching,
Veronica feared that her sister would be late as
usual, so she took her last glance at herself in the
mirror, tightened the blue ribbon that was threaded
through her fair hair, tucked a pale rose in the blue
sash of her high-waisted, white muslin frock, and
flitted off happily to Christobel's room.</p>
<p>"Come in!" said a not very amiable voice
in response to the light tap. "Oh, it's you, is
it?"</p>
<p>"Can I help you, as you have no maid?"</p>
<p>Princess Christobel's room was by no means
tidy. "I don't want any help," she replied ungraciously,
moving some of the garments that
littered the bed, "but you can sit down there, if
you like, next to the 'Shah of Persia.'"</p>
<p>Veronica took the place indicated next to the
sweetest little blue Persian kitten that was curled
up fast asleep on the coverlet.</p>
<p>"I like your new frock, Veronica," continued<span class="pagenum">[235]</span>
Christobel, surveying her sister as she pinned up her
black hair without troubling even to do it before a
glass; "but you look pretty in anything. If you
didn't, no one would trouble to pet you. No one
ever fusses over me."</p>
<p>"Papa does, for one."</p>
<p>"Only because he thinks it's his duty."</p>
<p>"I would if you'd let me."</p>
<p>"Oh yes. You'd be very pleased if I'd let you
hang about me—an ugly girl can't show to much
advantage next to a pretty one. I know your
little game."</p>
<p>"Oh, Christobel! How can you say such unkind,
unjust things?" protested poor Veronica
with a sob.</p>
<p>"If you want to cry," said Christobel crossly,
"you shouldn't do so until you go to sleep.
You cry so easily; and then your bright eyes
look heavy, and your aquiline nose gets red,
and the whole Castle gets upset about them.
Who cares if <i>my</i> eyes are red?"</p>
<p>"Every one, of course. Besides, one's looks
aren't everything."</p>
<p>"I know differently. Looks <i>are</i> everything.
But I don't care if people trouble about me or
not, or anything they do, or think, or say!"</p>
<p>"What <i>are</i> you putting on, Christobel? Not
<i>that</i>, surely!"<span class="pagenum">[236]</span></p>
<p>"Yes. Same old Red Riding Hood cape and
green skirt—does for indoors or out. Same old
crew about, I suppose?"</p>
<p>"I suppose so. But it's Christmas Eve. Those
loose things don't even suit you. Let me lend you
a new frock which I have, just the same as this;
we can arrange ribbons of your colour, red. We're
the same height, and it will suit you quite as well
as it suits me."</p>
<p>"A nice comparison people would draw, eh?"
sneered Christobel; and being ready she took the
sleepy Shah in her arms and stalked downstairs
with him faintly mewing his protests, leaving her
sister to follow if she liked.</p>
<p>In the ball-room Christobel superciliously took
no notice of the respectful greetings of the Court.
She was naturally shy, reserved too, and sensitive
as to her appearance and lack of charm. But
Veronica had a kind word for every one, stopping
to greet with a smile or a merry jest all present;
for they all adored her for her sweetness, graciousness,
and extraordinary beauty. There wasn't a
man but who would have died for her, nor a
woman but who felt better for her radiant presence.
Little Love suddenly appeared and whispered
something to Princess Veronica, who blushed,
was confused, and said in a low voice to her
sister<span class="pagenum">[237]</span>—</p>
<p>"Prince Olivin is here! Papa has sent for me."</p>
<p>"You might have told me he was coming,"
replied Christobel, turning pale.</p>
<p>"But I never knew, indeed." Her sister had
turned away, and Little Love was leading Veronica
towards the antechamber.</p>
<p>It seemed to Princess Christobel as though
every face in the ball-room was a mask, and
behind that mask were eyes that gleamed with
mockery—that she had only to turn her back,
and fingers of scorn and derision would mark
her passage—and she turned and fled, never
pausing in her course through the long passages
and up the marble stairway until she was back
in her room, where she flung the poor Shah and
herself on the bed and burst into a torrent of
tears and lamentations in her loneliness, disappointment,
and jealousy. The kitten, too, looked
unusually blue, and mewed disconsolately—felt
bored, then purred, stretched its little self on the
coverlet, and fell asleep again. Before long the
sound of the heralds' silver trumpets pierced right
up into Christobel's ears—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Par</i>—parraparpar—<i>pip</i>—ha!<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Par</i>—parraparpar—<i>paar</i>—<i>r</i>!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>And she knew that the engagement was then
being announced of Princess Veronica to Prince<span class="pagenum">[238]</span>
Olivin; and the strains of the Waltz of the
Affianced which followed, played by the Court
musicians, confirmed the fact.</p>
<p>How long she remained thus in the dark she
did not know. Sounds of an angry voice roused
her from her stupor, and she went out into the
brilliantly lighted corridor, shading her eyes from
the glare, the scent of flowers and the soft strains
of music becoming more noticeable as she approached
the stairway whence the voices proceeded—one
of which she could now distinguish
as being that of her sister. She peeped over the
banisters, and saw, standing close beside Veronica,
Countess Spinx, white with suppressed passion.</p>
<p>"You knew," hissed the Countess, "that there
was to be no Queen."</p>
<p>"I and my sister knew. Yes. Let me pass;
I don't know what's become of her. I want to
fetch her."</p>
<p>"You might have told it to your old friend.
You are looking radiantly beautiful to-night."</p>
<p>"I am very happy."</p>
<p>"Happy with your betrothed?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Listen! Did you know that every one said <i>I</i>
had the best chance of being Queen?"</p>
<p>"You!" exclaimed the young Princess in astonishment.
"Fancy young you my stepmother!"<span class="pagenum">[239]</span>
and she burst out into a merry laugh. The next
moment she was falling headlong down the marble
stairway, and then lay quite still, bruised and bleeding.
In the stillness that ensued—for the music
had stopped—Countess Spinx flew upstairs, where
she was confronted by Princess Christobel, who
pushed roughly past her and hurried down to her
sister's side. Her screams for help brought people
running from every side. The injured girl, still unconscious,
was quickly borne to her apartments, and
the Court physicians surrounded her.</p>
<p>All sorts of rumours were set afloat in the
Castle, but all that was gathered for certain by
the company, as they dispersed, was that Princess
Veronica slipped on the marble stair owing to her
new high-heeled shoes—that the sweet face was
strapped and bandaged, for it was all cut and
bruised, that the nose was broken, and her beauty
spoilt for ever. Prince Olivin was half wild with
grief, and poor King Jorum was shedding tears all
alone in his study when Christobel sought admittance.
Her face was set and stern, and the sight
of his weakness didn't unnerve her as she said
bluntly—</p>
<p>"Father, Veronica did not slip on the stair—she
was purposely and viciously thrown down."</p>
<p>"Eh, <i>what</i>?" exclaimed the King, staring at her.
"Are you taking leave of your senses? There's<span class="pagenum">[240]</span>
not a soul who would hurt my pretty darling.
You have enemies. She has none."</p>
<p>"<i>She</i> was happy. Others were not. Countess
Spinx was in a fury of disappointment at not being
chosen Queen. She flung poor Veronica down in
spite and malice. I saw her do it."</p>
<p>The King bounded up. "Summon the Countess!"
he cried.</p>
<p>Before her Christobel repeated her accusation,
and Countess Spinx tried to assert she only put
out her arms to save the unfortunate Princess from
slipping. Further questioned, she got confused,
contradicted herself, and finally sunk on her knees
and prayed for mercy.</p>
<p>"To the cells!" shouted the King, and his eyes
falling on his jewelled boots, he hastily tore them
off and threw them after her as she was carried
away.</p>
<p>When, next day, poor little Princess Veronica
recovered consciousness and was free from pain she
asked for her sister, who came quickly to her side.</p>
<p>"Have you heard," asked Veronica faintly,
"that I—I—I am maimed for life? With a
broken nose and scarred face I shall not only be
ugly but repulsive."</p>
<p>"Poor Veronica! You will then be on the
same level with me in the future. How you will
miss all the petting, all the love!"<span class="pagenum">[241]</span></p>
<p>"I suppose my life is spoilt. And when I had
beauty, I thought of it and prized it so little. But
won't you love me, Christobel?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I will now."</p>
<p>"Why only now?"</p>
<p>"Because I shall always feel sorry for you—I
have never felt sorry for any one but myself before—and
I shall love you heaps and heaps."</p>
<p>"Don't you think others may feel sorry for me,
too?—Poor Prince Olivin! Poor me!" she added
with a little moan.</p>
<p>Christobel shook her head sadly. "Beauty is
everything! You will understand that now."</p>
<p>No limbs were broken, and in a couple of days
Princess Veronica, with her head and face veiled
in white lace, was able to receive some visits of
sympathy in her misfortune.</p>
<p>King Jorum was inconsolable, and whenever he
came out of the invalid's room he would vow
terrible threats of vengeance on Countess Spinx,
who was trembling for her spiteful life in the cells.</p>
<p>On the third night after the Christmas festivities
had been brought to their sudden and tragic close,
Princess Christobel dreamed such a vivid dream
that it awakened her. She dreamed that Little
Love, who avoided her whenever he could, came
smilingly up to her, kissed her hand, and raising a
letter he held, showed, with a look of triumph which<span class="pagenum">[242]</span>
puzzled her, that it was addressed to her sister. She
awoke, and instantly remembered that Little Love
had really kissed her hand that evening, to her
great surprise. She sat up in bed listening, for
she fancied she heard her sister call. Becoming
anxious for her comfort, she rose, and went gently
in to her. It was quiet in the dimly lighted
chamber. The invalid lay softly sleeping, her face
all bandaged, and her glorious hair a mass of gold
about the pillow. Under her hand was an open
letter. Tempted by the influence of her dream,
Christobel drew nearer. It was Prince Olivin's
firm writing—there were only a few lines, and the
moonlight shone full upon them. She could not
help reading:—</p>
<blockquote><p>"Beloved! Think not to release me. It is your sweet nature
I love. You. Your beautiful mind. Nothing could ever change
them!</p>
<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Olivin.</span>"</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Was it joy for her sister? was it some gleam
of an unknown sense of peace, tenderness, and
hope in her soul, that brought scalding tears to
Christobel's eyes as, half blinded by them, she
groped her way back to her room, where she fell
on her knees and cried softly, and prayed that, now
through her tears her eyes had been opened, she
might learn to become different? "Beauty is <i>not</i>
everything, then!" she repeated wonderingly to<span class="pagenum">[243]</span>
herself over and over again, finding each time fresh
comfort in the thought. "How wrong I have
been! Out of her disfigurement Veronica says my
love for her has grown, and is worth much to her
in comfort. It has brought us close together, and
made us both happy. How grateful she is for
every one's attention! And now the Prince still
pleads for her! So! it was not her beauty that
attracted him—it was not her beauty—not her
beauty!" Thus she thought earnestly and long,
and it brought her a strange sense of faith in herself
and others. "I shall tell them all that I, too,
know how truly she deserves her happiness!"</p>
<p>And tell them she did, and they opened their
eyes and bowed respectfully, and thought more of
Princess Christobel than they had ever thought
before.</p>
<p>New Year's Eve came round with its accustomed
regularity, and the inmates of Cosmopolis
Castle were looking unusually grave for the occasion.
Princess Veronica was to appear once more
in their midst, and with the bandages removed
from her poor face. It was a silent, uneasy company
that had gathered together in the great ball-room,
and King Jorum, engaged in a game of
"Snap" with Little Love in a corner, looked ill
and worn from anxiety for his favourite child.</p>
<p>Suddenly the card-players rose, and a thrill of<span class="pagenum">[244]</span>
excitement went through the assembly—Princess
Veronica stood on the threshold in white muslin
and blue. Her face showed no trace of scars; but
her nose! Her nose was unrecognisable. It was
no more aquiline, but tip-tilted—the sweetest little
turned-up feature imaginable, and her appearance
had actually <i>gained</i>: Princess Veronica had become
the loveliest lady in the land!</p>
<p>After being locked in her father's arms Veronica
found herself suddenly in those of her lover. King
Jorum was frantic with delight. He called for
Doctor Quick and made him Lord High Druggist
of his Majesty's dominions, with all the appanages,
endowments, privileges, and perquisites appertaining
to the office. He showered honours on
every physician on or near the premises. He
talked of bonfires, and of honours, and tiaras all
round, until he was hoarse. Then Princess Christobel
appeared in white muslin and red ribbons,
and there were cheers for her animated appearance
and her kind expression as she gracefully returned
their greeting. "Father," she said, drawing him
on one side, "Veronica is asking for Countess
Spinx. May I—may I tell the prisoner that now
all is well she is forgiven?" King Jorum shook his
head vigorously, although he was too happy to do
anything but smile all the time. "She has been in
the cells for ever so long," pleaded Christobel, and<span class="pagenum">[245]</span>
her father was so taken aback at the revelation of
her fine eyes and sweet voice, which had never at
any time struck him before, that he nodded his head
violently.</p>
<p>That evening a stranger was bidden to the
feast—no less a person than the great traveller,
brother to Prince Olivin, just returned from a
voyage of discovery—the bronzed and manly
young Duke of Rosenleaf. "Who is that charming
young girl?" he asked, as soon as he set eyes
on her.</p>
<p>"Princess Christobel, your Highness," replied
Little Love with a sly smile.</p>
<p>King Jorum couldn't get to sleep that night.
He usually slept too much, and was in the habit
of unscrewing the top of his foot-warmer and
pouring therefrom the hot coffee which he imbibed
at intervals in order not to oversleep himself in the
morning and thus set a bad example in the land.
But he had no need for it to-night. He could not
get to sleep at all.</p>
<p>He thought, and thought, and thought what had
wrought such a marvellous and rapid change in
the character and appearance of his elder daughter.
He smiled over it, too, and smiled until his cheeks
ached with so much smiling, as much as his poor
head ached with so much thought. Still he went
on thinking right through the night, and just as he<span class="pagenum">[246]</span>
put up his arms above his head to break into a
mighty yawn, he suddenly cried—</p>
<p>"I have it! That's it! She has realised the
old theme of Peace and Goodwill, as is proper at
this time of year, and has turned over a new leaf!
Bravo!" And he turned himself over, snored, and
overslept himself.</p>
<p>So the first day of the New Year opened in
complete harmony at the Court of King Jorum.
And when the Duke of Rosenleaf asked Princess
Christobel if she would make the Happy New
Year a happy one for him, she smiled and blushingly
allowed him to place the prettiest of diamond
rings on her finger.</p>
<p>And the New Year was still in its youth when
the two young Princesses were married. And by
the time that the Shah of Persia's great-great-grand-kittens
were gambolling about the palace, it
had become a frequent and pleasant subject for
argument and debate throughout the kingdom—"Who
is the most charming and lovable woman
in the land, Christobel or Veronica?"</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[247]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="ONE_APRIL_DAY" id="ONE_APRIL_DAY"></SPAN>ONE APRIL DAY</h2>
<p class="h3">PART I</p>
<p class="h3">A QUEER GODMOTHER</p>
<p>It was the First of April. The weather could not
make up its mind whether to be tearful or gay.
So, after changing three times, and deciding at last
that it was not grown-up to cry, the sun dried up
the tear-drops and beamed down on everything and
everybody.</p>
<p>"Isn't it a shame, Wilfrid, to have to prepare
lessons when it's such a fine afternoon?" exclaimed
Norah. She rose from the study table and looked
longingly out of the French window to where the
crocuses on the lawn seemed to be having the best
of it.</p>
<p>"Don't be lazy," replied her brother. "Just
come and help me with this sum when I tell you."</p>
<p>"I'm not going to do as you tell me. If you
were grown up—say fifteen—it would be different;
but you're only a year older than me—not even nine
yet—and yet you——"</p>
<p>"Halloa!" interrupted Wilfrid with a low whistle,<span class="pagenum">[248]</span>
as he strolled towards the window. "Look at
that's legs."</p>
<p>"Which's?" inquired Norah, gazing in the direction
he pointed.</p>
<p>"Them's."</p>
<p>"What's?" she asked eagerly, looking around.</p>
<p>"None! Well, you <i>are</i> an April fool!" exclaimed
Wilfrid with scornful glee as he resumed
his seat; "that's the second time to-day!"</p>
<p>"And you're a very rude boy, and you're not
allowed to call me horrid names like that," said
Norah with dignity; "and I won't be teased always."</p>
<p>With a very offended look, she set to work on
her copy-book.</p>
<p>"Lend me your paint-box when we've finished
our lessons, will you, Norah dear?" said Wilfrid,
after a short pause.</p>
<p>"I can't," she replied, without looking up.</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"I don't know why, but I can't."</p>
<p>"Cat in the manger! You've got nothing you
want to paint, as I have."</p>
<p>There was a longer pause, during which they
both scribbled away, and scratched, and spluttered,
whilst their tongues moved silently from side to
side outside their parted lips, left to right, following
the direction of each new line.</p>
<p>Then Norah heaved a sigh and remarked<span class="pagenum">[249]</span>—</p>
<p>"Wilfrid, isn't Cinderella lovely?"</p>
<p>"Yes, as girls go."</p>
<p>"Oh, how I wish we lived in those times, when
there were fairy godmothers and things!" exclaimed
Norah rapturously; then she added with a
sigh—</p>
<p>"Aunt Leonora is my godmother, but she never
gives me anything, and the godmothers in the fairy
stories always give heaps of things."</p>
<p>"You can't expect great fat podges like that to
be like fairy godmothers, you silly!"</p>
<p>"But she ought to like giving things. How nice
it is to give presents and be thanked!"</p>
<p>"Yes; it's nice to give presents—when they are
cheap. Perhaps," continued her brother in a wise
voice,—"perhaps Aunt Leonora can't afford it if
she isn't rich!"</p>
<p>"Cinderella's godmother never seemed to consider
the price of anything. I wish—oh, how I
wish——"</p>
<p>"Oh, how I wish you'd be quiet and help me
with this sum. You remember your tables better
than I do, but you needn't be jolly cocky about it
all the same."</p>
<p>Norah wasn't listening to him. Her mind was
far away from lessons. She was thinking, if she
had her choice, what she would like to be, what she
would like to do, and eat, and, above all, what she<span class="pagenum">[250]</span>
would like to wear. "If only I had a fairy godmother,
I——"</p>
<p>"Rubbish!" exclaimed Wilfrid, growing cross,
and frowning as he watched her moving restlessly
about the room.</p>
<p>"I—of course, I wouldn't refuse her anything.
Fairy godmothers generally appear at first disguised
as old women, and ask for something, such
as a drink of water, or beg you to carry a load
of wood or whatever they happen to have in hand.
So I should be ready to do anything and give
anything, and earn my big reward."</p>
<p>"Oh, shurrup!" growled her brother. "Much
better lend me your paint-box."</p>
<p>But she didn't hear him; taken up with her
fancies she continued excitedly—</p>
<p>"I know what I'll do. I'll try and tempt her
to come. Perhaps I may even have a fairy godmother
without knowing it!"</p>
<p>And she began to dance about, singing—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Tra-la-la, fairy godmother,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Come to me now, I pray;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Visit a little girl who is longing for you<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And will do anything you want.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tra-la-la, fairy godmother, come."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>It wasn't very good poetry, but Norah hadn't
time to polish it up.<span class="pagenum">[251]</span></p>
<p>"Oh, I say! How can I do my lessons with all
this going on?" exclaimed Wilfrid. And flinging
his things together he bounced out of the room
and banged the door behind him.</p>
<p>Norah wasn't sorry he was gone, and danced
once more all round the room singing; then knelt
down, and, stretching out her arms towards the
crocuses which were so stiff and upright in their
indifference, she said plaintively—</p>
<p>"Come, dear fairy godmother, I want you!"</p>
<p>And lo! between Norah and the window there
suddenly appeared a little old woman in a long
cloak, whose features were hidden by the large
hood she wore.</p>
<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Norah, almost breathless in
her astonishment and delight.</p>
<p>"I have come," said the stranger in cracked,
quavering tones.</p>
<p>"I'm so glad to see you," replied Norah politely,
too excited to feel shy.</p>
<p>"I—your fairy godmother—am here to test you
and see if you are really worthy. See this slate
which I have brought under my cloak. Every
little lady should be able to do arithmetic right.
Can you do this sum?"</p>
<p>"How funny, godmother dear!" said Norah,
looking at it. "We are just learning these. It's
a difficult one, but I'll try."<span class="pagenum">[252]</span></p>
<p>In a few moments she had done the sum and
proved it correct.</p>
<p>"Very good," said the fairy, with a grunt of
satisfaction.</p>
<p>"Will you take a drink of water?" now asked
the hospitable Norah eagerly. "Do."</p>
<p>"No, thank you. But I may take something
else. Tell me, what of all your treasures do you
like most?"</p>
<p>"Oh, my paint-box!"</p>
<p>"I knew it; I am glad you tell the truth."</p>
<p>"How did you know it?" asked Norah in surprise.</p>
<p>"I am your fairy godmother. I'll take that
paint-box, please."</p>
<p>Norah brought it and gave it to her with the
greatest pleasure, and pressingly inquired if she
might carry anything anywhere. But that was
not required. Then she stood waiting expectantly.
And her heart seemed to turn a somersault of
delight when her fairy godmother spoke the
following words:—</p>
<p>"I am satisfied. Now you may wish for whatever
you like. But you must make up your mind
before I count three."</p>
<p>Norah's eyes had followed her glance at the
clock, which pointed to one minute to three; but
her mind, from the flutter of excitement she was
in, became a complete blank.<span class="pagenum">[253]</span></p>
<p>"One!" said the fairy solemnly.</p>
<p>This brought the little goddaughter to her senses,
and she began to mutter confusedly—</p>
<p>"Shall I wish for a gold carriage, like Cinderella's,
or a pet lamb, with a blue ribbon and a bell round its
neck, or a frock embroidered in diamonds, or——"</p>
<p>"Two!" said the fairy.</p>
<p>"No," murmured Norah hurriedly. "If I were a
queen, I could order those things and everything else.
I wish"—the clock struck three—"I were a——"</p>
<p>"Three!" called out the fairy.</p>
<p>"——a Queen!" screamed Norah, just the
second after.</p>
<p>"Too late!" said the fairy. "Farewell!" And
she moved towards the door.</p>
<p>Norah's eyes filled with tears. "Please come
back!" she pleaded.</p>
<p>"I can't."</p>
<p>"Oh, why can't you?"</p>
<p>"I don't know why, but I can't," replied the
little old woman.</p>
<p>This sounded strangely in Norah's ears, and
what sounded stranger still were the next words
she heard uttered; these were simply—</p>
<p>"Thanks, awfully!"</p>
<p>Then Norah exclaimed at once, "That's Wilfrid's
voice!" She pushed aside the hood. "Why,
you're Wilfrid!" she cried, amazed.<span class="pagenum">[254]</span></p>
<p>"And you're April Billy!" he shouted with glee,
throwing off the long cloak. "You said you'd do
anything and give anything for a reward, and now
you've had to do so without one!" And, bursting
out laughing, he ran off with the sum and the
paint-box.</p>
<p>Norah sat down on a footstool and burst out
crying. She was angry and disappointed, and she
sobbed bitterly as she thought how she had been
tricked into doing Wilfrid's horrid sum, how she
had been made to give away her treasured paint-box
which he had envied for months, and, worst of all
a thousand times, how she had no fairy godmother
after all!</p>
<p class="h3">PART II</p>
<p class="h3">THE LITTLE FLOWER GIRL</p>
<p>But Norah was a plucky little girl, and at times a
wise little girl. And, moreover, she had a sort of
feeling that it all served her right for being silly, and
dissatisfied, and too selfish to lend her paint-box.
Wilfrid certainly was a tease, but he was really a dear
good brother, and always lent her his things, and did
his best to champion her and get her out of a scrape.</p>
<p>Still, she felt she would like to pay him out, all
the same—he'd had such a lovely time being fairy
godmother!<span class="pagenum">[255]</span></p>
<p>So she decided, like the weather, that it was not
grown-up to cry, and she dried her eyes. Then
all at once she smiled and laughed outright. For
an idea had come to her, which she proceeded to
carry out. She certainly began to do some rather
queer things.</p>
<p>First of all she took off her shoes and stockings.
Then she untied the pink ribbon which kept her
hair tidy, so that her curls fell in a towsled mass
about her flushed cheeks. Next she took off her
pink overall pinafore, which she hid away; and
gathering her white frock over her head, displayed
a short red-and-white striped petticoat.</p>
<p>Running quickly about the room she took all
the violets from the vases, strewed some of them
in the fold of her frock, which she held together in
one hand, and put together a large bunch of the
flowers for her other hand.</p>
<p>Then she stepped through the open window,
threw some sand upon her feet and ankles, and
thus prepared, stood on the path outside, looked in,
and waited.</p>
<p>Very soon Wilfrid burst into the room, exclaiming—</p>
<p>"Come and look at the healthy colour I've
painted on your big doll's pale cheeks. Oh,
Norah!" he added, looking round the empty room.</p>
<p>And now he became conscious of a little flower-girl<span class="pagenum">[256]</span>
standing on the garden path, and piteously
offering him a bunch of violets.</p>
<p>Norah had heard what he had said, and felt
vexed that he had dared to touch her big doll;
still, she had not the affection for that stately lady
that she had for the small invalid doll with the
broken leg, so she only said—</p>
<p>"Buy a bunch of violets, sir?"</p>
<p>He was a tender-hearted boy, and at once
fetched down his money-box from a shelf in the cupboard,
unlocked it, and took out twopence which
he gave her; but then he felt awkward and refused
the flowers.</p>
<p>An organ in the street started playing.</p>
<p>"I can dance to that if you can pay," said
the little girl thoughtfully, eyeing the money-box.</p>
<p>"How much do you want?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Three shillings," she replied boldly.</p>
<p>"That's all I've got."</p>
<p>"That'll do, then," she said; "I want it so
badly."</p>
<p>"Yes, but——"</p>
<p>Not heeding his protests, she stole into the room
and began to dance to the organ, as she had seen
the poor children do in the streets, her little bare
feet twirling up slowly and descending with measured
steps on to the soft carpet.<span class="pagenum">[257]</span></p>
<p>"Oh, I say!" soon exclaimed Wilfrid with dissatisfaction;
"my sister Norah can dance better
than that, for nothing!"</p>
<p>Nevertheless, he felt bound to empty his money-box
into the hand she now held out.</p>
<p>Solemnly she made him a little bob of a curtsey.
Then she began to caper about the room in a very
different sort of spirit. And then, catching hold of
the astonished boy round the neck, she kissed him.</p>
<p>"Hi! Shurrup!" cried Wilfrid, disengaging himself
and looking sheepish.</p>
<p>"Oh, you April goose!" sang Norah; "April
goose—you're an April goose, Master Wilfrid!"
And she uncovered her head and shook back her
curls.</p>
<p>"Halloa!" exclaimed Wilfrid, ruefully at first,
and then added more cheerily—</p>
<p>"Ha! Do you think I didn't know you all the
time?"</p>
<p>"Did you really?" inquired his sister, her eyes
wide open with surprise.</p>
<p>"No, I didn't," he replied curtly.</p>
<p>Then Norah's arm stole round her brother's neck,
and she put the money into his pocket, and told
him gently that she had only wanted to have a little
bit of fun, and he was welcome to use her paint-box—only
please not on her dolls.</p>
<p>Then Wilfrid told her that she was a jolly good<span class="pagenum">[258]</span>
sort; and that after all it was a shame to tease
her, as she couldn't fight him for it. And Norah
hugged him, and they both laughed about how
well they had "pretended" to one another.</p>
<p>The sun was shining still, and when the children
romped on the lawn the stuck-up crocuses didn't
have the best of it, after all.</p>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[259]</span>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_STORM_THE_TEAPOT_BREWED" id="THE_STORM_THE_TEAPOT_BREWED"></SPAN>THE STORM THE TEAPOT BREWED</h2>
<p>In a bright nursery, hung with pictures, the table
was laid for tea. Upon an iron tray, which had seen
much service—even military service, as a drum used
by the nursery band—stood the tea-set. This set
included a very large cup which belonged to Nurse,
bearing the funny inscription, "I am not greedy,
but I like a lot." The other cups were also lettered
in gold. One hailed, it declared, "From Margate,"
and showed the pier as a proof. Another, a small
one made of porcelain, wished "Many Happy Returns
to Effie" every time she looked at it. A thick,
fat cup proclaimed itself "A Present to Daniel," and
a mug bore the perpetual reminder that it was "For
a Good Boy"—but it was cracked, so it didn't look
quite happy, perhaps because the reminder was not
always capable of keeping the boy good.</p>
<p>The Kettle completed the party, but sat comfortably
on the warm hob next the fire, drowsily
singing snatches of song, in the knowledge of having
done his duty in giving the thirsty Teapot a
drink of water. So all was ready for tea except the
children. Nurse had gone to collect them, when<span class="pagenum">[260]</span>
the Chinese Teapot, who always liked to appear
important, suddenly exclaimed—</p>
<p>"What a noise that Kettle is making, to be sure!
One could scarcely hear one's self rattle if one
wanted to."</p>
<p>The Kettle, ignoring the protest, sang on—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Just now we were quiet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No noise and no riot,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You could hear a bread-plate drop—Flop!"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>"We used to have a very nice English teapot
once," remarked the Porcelain Cup.</p>
<p>"I remember," replied her neighbour from Margate.
"He came from Worcestershire. He was a
big pot, and thought himself no end of a swell."</p>
<p>"What! Kettle-time already!" exclaimed the
Tongs, yawning and stretching his legs.</p>
<p>"A nice sort of life it is for one of my grade and
standing," grumbled the Teapot, "to be surrounded
by such a set of ugly, foreign mugs and things as
you all are!"</p>
<p>There was a general rattling of displeasure at the
insult, but it was drowned by the Kettle, who could
see a joke, singing up merrily—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"If there's a fuss—if a Pot should allude<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As a 'mug' to a China Cup,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There's always a clatter<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of jug, plate, and platter,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till somebody washes them up."<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum">[261]</span></div>
</div>
<p>"It's disgraceful to go on like this!" complained
the Milk-jug, looking rather broken-down about
the handle.</p>
<p>"Ah!" said the Teapot with a sneer, "when one
only dates from 1887, and hasn't a handle to one's
back, one should retire to the seclusion of the cupboard,
and remain there as a curio."</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"There was once a Jubilee Jug-gins,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Jug-jug-juggins,"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>hummed the Kettle.</p>
<p>"Poor old crock!" said the Sugar-basin sweetly,
melting with pity through all her composition. For
she was his inseparable companion, and knew that
the Milk-jug was full of human kindness, and useful
still.</p>
<p>"Never mind the quarrelling, darlings," whispered
the gentlemanly Spoons to their lady friends, whom
they had taken in to tea, "we will protect you."</p>
<p>"Upon my word!" exclaimed she from Margate,
"I'm glad <i>I</i> was not born in China. Where I come
from rudeness is unknown."</p>
<p>The Kettle took up the idea and sang gaily—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"They're pottery, porcelain, colour, and gold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They come from the china shop,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where crockery's bought, and the customer's sold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the Bull galloped in so angry and bold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And when the poor, terrified shopkeeper told<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Him to go, he did nothing but stop."<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum">[262]</span></div>
</div>
<p>"You ought to have a will of iron if you're made
of the right stuff," she continued, addressing the
Tray; "you ought to keep order, but you say
nothing and do less."</p>
<p>"You see, he's only a waiter—slow and unpolished,"
added the Teapot spitefully.</p>
<p>"My view, if I may express it—" broke in the
Cup from Margate.</p>
<p>"When I want your view, either of Margate or
of politeness," retorted the Tray, interrupting the
remark, "I'll ask for it. If I'd the chance I'd drop
the whole lot of you, and get friendly with a new
set, that I would!"</p>
<p>Whereupon the irrepressible Kettle chirruped—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Then he'd pay the expense of the mender's bill—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The mender is Doctor, you see—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who makes out an order,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A matter of sawder<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And rivets, cement, and a fee."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>"You're always brewing mischief!" said Nurse's
Cup angrily to the Teapot; "there'll be no peace
for any of us where you are."</p>
<p>"That's true!" screamed out the little Tea-leaves
inside the pot; "he's always getting us into hot
water."</p>
<p>"I'll draw the tannin out of the whole ounce of
you! You're about as sensible as mortals who
haven't the wit to understand us. But when we go<span class="pagenum">[263]</span>
cracked like Muggins over there, or stony broke like
the Juggins next to him, or get smashed up altogether
with age or lack of care, they take notice of
us at last, and then there is a mighty fine fuss."</p>
<p>At this the Kettle, getting somewhat out of
breath from his exertions, bubbled out in a high
key—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"They're Wedgwood, Staffordshire, Japanese too,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They're a breakable lot, we know;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When any one cracks any,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Chelsea or Saxony,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dresden, or Worcester, or Bow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They make as much shindy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As if a big windy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was shivered to bits by a blow."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>The Teapot went on: "Those people are amusing,
too; they think we ought to last for ever, when
they can't do it themselves."</p>
<p>"A couple of chatterpots!" exclaimed the
Nurse's Cup. "Dear me! What with your
spouting, and his showing off once he begins to
sing, you're enough to wear one out!"</p>
<p>"<i>Dear</i> you, indeed!" returned the Teapot;
"<i>cheap</i> you! Why, you were given away with a
pound of tea! Shouldn't be surprised at all!" he
continued, watching Nurse's Cup become speechless
with indignation. "But, spouting aside, I
could tell you a thing or two."<span class="pagenum">[264]</span></p>
<p>"Or three—or four—or five—or—" The
Kettle might have sung on into billions had he
not begun to choke over it, and splutter, and gurgle.
Then he grew vexed, and snorted, and got angrier
and angrier, until finally, in order to breathe more
easily, he knocked his lid on one side, and began
to boil with rage.</p>
<p>"Ha, ha!" laughed the Teapot mockingly.
"The old fellow's getting his steam up. Pray
don't de-range yourself, sir, on our account. He,
he! He's getting water on his nob!"</p>
<p>This didn't seem to comfort the Kettle much.</p>
<p>"What do you think about it, Spoonies?" added
the Teapot. But the Spoons heeded him not.
They were conversing quietly in couples, and
didn't care to be drawn into argument. So he
turned his attention elsewhere, bent on brewing
discord. "People are so thoughtless," he complained,
turning a cold shoulder to the others.
"Muggins, my boy, I'm beginning to get quite
chilly; just go and fetch my cosy coat." He knew
this was an impossibility, and he only said it in
order to pick a quarrel. But, noticing a distant
Plate who was openly laughing at him, he cuttingly
remarked: "Seen the plumber, lately?" Now,
the Plate happened to be suffering severely from
rivets, an infirmity which she vainly tried to hide,
and which she hated to be noticed. So, getting<span class="pagenum">[265]</span>
no reply, he added, "I presume that your plumbago
is better."</p>
<p>The Kettle was now puffing and spitting to such
a degree that it was difficult to imagine he was the
same jolly fellow who had been singing so good-temperedly
all the time.</p>
<p>And the Teapot was content. He had gained
his object, and the whole set felt as though they
had been wiped the wrong way, when suddenly
noisy voices were heard outside.</p>
<p>The nursery door was opened, and in burst Fred,
home from Margate School, followed by gentle
little Effie; and Nurse, vigorously protesting at
being pushed forward in jerks by Bob. Poor, long-suffering
Nurse, as usual, was not having at all
a good time with the three troublesome boys.
Daniel had clambered on her back, and was trying
to pull off her cap. Bob—who was not nearly
such "A Good Boy" as his mug pretended—slily
untied her apron-strings. The apron dropped, and
Nurse tripped over it, jerking Daniel on to the
floor; and she would have fallen too had she not
just saved herself by clutching the table.</p>
<p>"Cr-cr-crikey!" clattered the China on the tray
in alarm.</p>
<p>"Bless those boys!" cried Nurse, as she replaced
her apron; but they only laughed. Effie
was helping to put her cap straight when the<span class="pagenum">[266]</span>
Kettle, unable to contain his feelings any longer,
marked his indignation by hissing disapproval and
then boiling over. Nurse rushed to his aid, and
altered his position so that he couldn't see all that
went on. He recovered himself at once.</p>
<p>Bustling into their chairs, they all sat down to
tea, and at the sudden action the whole tea-set
rattled to arms, some standing at attention. The
Spoons, stirred by the children's hands, began
knocking the sides of the Cups, dealing them blows
right and left, and ringing out their resounding
protests.</p>
<p>"Here's a 'stranger'!" exclaimed Effie, taking
a tea-leaf out of her cup. "Who will it be?"</p>
<p>"A horrid foreigner, miss—a little black Indian,"
replied the Teapot, turning up his spout with scorn,
and giving a vicious squeeze to the others he held
prisoners.</p>
<p>"I know who it is!" said Bob, tilting back his
chair, then suddenly steadying himself by grasping
the table. This was a troublesome habit of his,
which drew Nurse's usual reminder.</p>
<p>"What's his name?" asked the others eagerly.</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> know—it's a secret," replied Bob mysteriously.</p>
<p>At this a loud argument began.</p>
<p>"My lid! Who's making the noise now?" the
Teapot cried. "Pray don't upset your precious selves."</p>
<p>"I think it must be Mr. Manners who is the<span class="pagenum">[267]</span>
stranger," exclaimed Nurse, putting her hands to
her ears to shut out the tumult.</p>
<p>"No!" shouted Bob. "I'll tell you—his name's
Mr. Tea-leaf!" And he laughed triumphantly.</p>
<p>As the other children raised their voices to
declare it was very unfair, Bob swung back on his
chair again.</p>
<p>"Oh!" screamed Nurse in a fright, making a
grab at the table. But she was too late!</p>
<p>Bob had already made a grab at it when, with a
<i>Swish! Bang!</i> he tumbled over backwards, dragging
the cloth with him, and everything upon it. And
the crockery lay around, all broken to atoms!</p>
<p>In the moment of hushed alarm that followed,
the Tray rolled away, exclaiming in triumph: "I've
got rid of them at last! I said I would when I
got the chance!" And the Kettle, gazing at the
wreckage, sang on serenely and merrily—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"There's been such a fuss, such a storm has been brewed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There's no cups for the tea, and no plates for the food;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The cleverest doctor may puzzle his wits,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But he never can gather and rivet the bits!"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum">[268]</span>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z325" id="z325"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z325.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="364" alt="" title=""></div>
<h2><SPAN name="MONICA_THE_MOON_CHILD" id="MONICA_THE_MOON_CHILD"></SPAN>MONICA THE MOON CHILD</h2>
<p class="h3">I</p>
<p class="h3">THIS SIDE OF THE MOON</p>
<p>It was one of those late afternoons in winter when
the countryside looks very white, very still, and
hushed to sleep under its coverlet of snow—just the
time when the bright fire at home is thought of with
delightful longing. The gentleman who drove the
phaeton that was bowling along the frosty road
must have thought so too, for he cracked his whip
so smartly that it sounded loud in the silent landscape,
startling the cob to a more hurried remembrance
of his snug stable.<span class="pagenum">[269]</span></p>
<p>"Not very far now, Doctor," he remarked to the
friend who sat next to him. "Home soon, Toodleums,"
he added, turning towards a big bundle of
shawls at the back of the carriage.</p>
<p>"I'm in no hurry, Papa," replied a childish voice;
"I call this lovely!"</p>
<p>"Quite warm, eh?"</p>
<p>"Quite, thank you, Papa."</p>
<p>The bundle, answering to the name of Toodleums,
was Monica—her father's constant companion. She
was an only child. Her mother had always been
delicate, and Monica was not allowed to be much
with her. She even forgot that the invalid at home
was ailing rather more than usual to-day, and that
their long drive was to fetch her old friend the Doctor
for his opinion, for she was listening with so much interest
to an explanation which her father was giving
of the new airship he had invented. He was still
describing his successful trial trip, when Monica
noticed that the moon and stars seemed to have
assembled all at once to make a night of it. Never
before had she driven out after dark, and soon she
became all absorbed, in a state of muffled-up
rapture, at the unusual sights and aspect of mystery
about.</p>
<p>"Hi! Toodleums, do you hear? What do you
say to going up with me in my airship next time
I go? Will you come?"<span class="pagenum">[270]</span></p>
<p>"Yes, yes," she answered eagerly; "I'll come,
Papa."</p>
<p>"You're not afraid of bumping up against the
moon?" asked the doctor playfully, leaning over to
pat her cheek. And both gentlemen laughed.
Monica didn't answer. She didn't know if she was
being made fun of or not.</p>
<p>At last they were in the hall at home, amidst the
lights and bustling of the servants. As no one
seemed to notice her, Monica took herself up to
the nursery. She had dressed there near the fire,
and the boxes and things had not been tidied away.
Monica stared around, thinking this very unusual,
and was just beginning to feel uncomfortably lonely
when a little wrinkled old woman with very bright
eyes hurriedly trotted in.</p>
<p>"Oh, Grandnurse," exclaimed Monica, "no one
is looking after me. How's Mamma?"</p>
<p>"Much better, Dearie. But I'm wanted downstairs;
can you spare me, Poppets? Put yourself
to bed, and I'll be back directly with your hot milk."
Without waiting for an answer she bustled into the
adjoining night nursery, where Monica heard her
busily opening and shutting the great cupboards.</p>
<p>The cheery old body was called Grandnurse because
she had been in the family for ever so long—so
long as to have become, as it were, a member of<span class="pagenum">[271]</span>
it. Passing through the nursery again she stopped
and said—</p>
<p>"What would my Poppets say to a little sister,
I wonder! A tiny new baby!"</p>
<p>"Oh, Grandnurse!" And before the old woman
could hurry out of the door Monica sprang forward,
her face all aglow with excitement, and holding her
tight by the arm cried all in a breath—</p>
<p>"Is it true? Where is it? When's it coming?
Who's going to bring it?"</p>
<p>"Patience; I can't wait now. Let me go,
Dearie," said Grandnurse, disengaging herself from
the little girl.</p>
<p>"But is it true?"</p>
<p>"Quite true."</p>
<p>"What will it come in?"</p>
<p>"A bandbox, of course," answered Grandnurse,
laughing gaily as she went out of the room.</p>
<p>"Can I fetch it? When can I fetch it?" persisted
Monica, following her downstairs.</p>
<p>"When there's a blue moon. Now go back,
there's a dear."</p>
<p>"Yes, but who's going to bring it?"</p>
<p>"Don't ask me—ask the man in the moon," said
the little old woman over her shoulder in a hushed
voice as she disappeared down a dark passage of the
large house.</p>
<p>Monica, standing there, laughed a little scornful<span class="pagenum">[272]</span>
laugh. "Ask the man in the moon, indeed!" she
muttered. "As though there were one! She often
says that, but I'm not so silly as to believe it."
And full of thought of the new little sister she re-entered
the nursery.</p>
<p>The heavy curtains had not been drawn, and the
moon was looking at her just as it had done during
the drive. How lovely it was, that drive! She
went to the large window seat and curled herself
up in her favourite corner. Outside it looked so
cold and white that she drew the curtain close
around her with a little shiver.</p>
<p>"Can Grandnurse really think there is a man in
the moon?" pondered Monica as she gazed up at
it; and confusedly she thought on: "I wonder if
there is, after all. Can he be going to bring the
baby? I should so like to know, and when, or who
is going to—I wish he'd tell me—perhaps if I were
to ask—who spoke about bumping up against the
moon? Ah!!"</p>
<p>Monica had conceived a grand idea. Quietly she
stole to the table, snatched up the empty hatbox
which ought to have been tidied away, and then—and
then she crept stealthily downstairs—everything
was quiet—stealthily out into the night she
went. Now she was in the great shed, where the
airship was—quite an old friend. She had seen her
father start on his journey in it, and had heard it all<span class="pagenum">[273]</span>
explained. The precious bandbox was placed in
the car, and the next moment Monica was beside it.
She touched a button. The great structure moved.
She held her breath, and her heart thumped surprisingly.
Then she clapped her hands with delight—the
airship slowly moved forward out of the shed,
and when she pulled a lever thing, close at hand,
she was soaring like a bird right out into the night,
soaring right up towards the heavens. She was<span class="pagenum">[274]</span>
going to ask the Man in the Moon to be kind enough
to give her the new baby she had come to fetch.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z330" id="z330"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z330.jpg" width-obs="571" height-obs="488" alt="She was soaring like a bird right out into the night" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">She was soaring like a bird right out into the night</p>
<p>How cold and crisp the air was! Monica was
glad to have on her coat and cap of fur. Higher,
higher she went until she lost consciousness of everything
except the cold and a sense of loneliness.</p>
<p>And the airship rose upwards, upwards, carrying
its pretty burden with eyes fast closed, and the
curly brown head lay helplessly low, supported by
the staring white empty bandbox.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Bump! There was a crunching noise as of carriage
wheels on a gravel path. The airship was
aground on something, and Monica realised she
must get her wits about her. She quickly pushed
back the lever thing and the noise ceased, the movement
also.</p>
<p>In the brilliant light, like sunlight, Monica saw
she had alighted on some rocks, whilst round about
was nothing but mountains, craters, caverns, and
awful stillness. There was not a creature about,
nor a sign of anything living. It was dreary to a
degree.</p>
<p>"Wherever am I?" exclaimed little Monica. She
scrambled out of the car, and slung the bandbox
on her arm—somehow there was company in that.
Above her a moon was shining—not <i>the</i> moon she
was accustomed to see, but one about four times
<span class="pagenum">[275]</span>larger, as though suffering from a swollen face, with
a pattern on it like the map of Europe.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z332" id="z332"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z332.jpg" width-obs="308" height-obs="600" alt="Round about was nothing but mountains, craters, caverns" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Round about was nothing but mountains, craters, caverns</p>
<p>"That does look queer," she muttered aloud.
"Bumped against the moon!" she thought to herself
unconsciously. For now she remembered her
father having told her what the earth must look
like from there; and she realised that she had
reached her destination, and was actually walking
about in the moon, and that the larger moon was
really the earth. This fact was so exciting that she
sat down to consider it, enjoy its importance, and
decide what to do.</p>
<p>She determined to go on, and so she rose and went
gaily forward, the bandbox swinging from her arm.
But it was very difficult walking, steep and rocky.</p>
<p>At last she found herself in a large plain of
broken stones—"much in want of a steam roller,"
thought Monica as she bravely hobbled along—and
all around were caves.</p>
<p>Out of the largest one of these there emerged a
tall and majestic figure, which, to her astonishment,
slowly glided sideways towards her, wrapped in a
cloudy drapery. Then Monica was convinced; and
she no longer had any doubt whatever but that
there was a Man in the Moon, and that this was he.
So very slowly did he advance that she had plenty
of time to recover from her surprise, and went forward
to meet him and introduce herself.<span class="pagenum">[276]</span></p>
<p>His steely blue eye had a peculiar cold beam in
it as he said—</p>
<p>"I bid you unwelcome! Are you not frightened?"</p>
<p>"No," replied the child. "Why should I be?
I've done no harm."</p>
<p>"Do you call coming here no harm?" All the
time he never stopped still a second, but kept
gloomily mooning about, his profile with its protruding
nose and chin in sharp outline always
turned towards her.</p>
<p>"I've come to—to fetch—" stammered Monica,
chilled by her reception.</p>
<p>"You're a trespasser! You're evidently a poacher,
too," he added, glancing angrily at the bandbox.
"Begone!"</p>
<p>"But, please sir, do tell me——"</p>
<p>With a warning gesture the Man slowly raised
his arm till its cloud-like drapery hid his face, and
he disappeared.</p>
<p>"Dear me! I don't like him a little bit!"
murmured Monica, staring vacantly about, and
found that where he had stood there was a big
board on which in big letters was inscribed—</p>
<div class="topbox">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Trespassers will be Moonstruck.</span></span>
<p class="author"><span class="smcap">By Order</span>.</p>
<span class="pagenum">[277]</span></div>
</div></div>
<p>At the sight of it Monica quickly took refuge in
the smallest of the caves.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" said a voice; and as soon as
her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom she
saw a queer creature resembling a great toad
swathed in a long white beard.</p>
<p>"Whoever you are," said the quaint inhabitant,
"I'm too blind to see you. Just lead
me to the further corner, there's a good trespasser."</p>
<p>Monica did not quite like being talked to like
that, but she held out the bandbox and, supporting
himself by it, her new acquaintance limped to
where he was led and sat down.</p>
<p>"Thanks, and many of them. It's not so
draughty here," he said.</p>
<p>"Have you been long in this cave?" asked
Monica.</p>
<p>"A few thousand years or so—I can't tell to a
minute," he mumbled. "But who are you, my
dear? By birth, of course, a Lunarian, but not by
accent."</p>
<p>Monica mentioned who she was. Whereupon
he became quite talkative, and began telling her
about the moon, but only what she had read in
her lesson books.</p>
<p>"Have you a House of Parliament?" she asked,
anxious to glean useful information. She had<span class="pagenum">[278]</span>
recently been to hear her father speak in theirs at
home, and was very proud of that.</p>
<p>"We've only a moonicipality, you know," said
her strange companion, rambling on until he
became quite drowsy. Emboldened by his kind
manner, she told him why she had come, and
begged for his advice. To her dismay the only
reply she got was a series of the loudest snores she
had ever heard. He was sound asleep.</p>
<p>"Do tell me what I had better do," she implored,
and she shook and pinched him till he awoke.</p>
<p>"Get on the right side of him, and don't bother
me," croaked the old creature, and snored louder
than ever. Delighted at the hint, Monica came
out on to the plain, and saw the Man gliding
slowly on, sideways, as before. He frowned heavily
on seeing her there, and seemed speechless with indignation.</p>
<p>"Get on the right side of him," repeated Monica
to herself as she made a dart forward to do so.
This proved unsuccessful, for just then he turned
so blue that she stopped, wondering if he was
getting a fit. Grandnurse's words, "When there's
a blue moon," suddenly occurred to her, and she
knew that now was her chance. She took courage
in his slowness, and without looking at him a
second time she rushed, stooping low, into a very
small cave on the other side of him.<span class="pagenum">[279]</span></p>
<p class="h3">II</p>
<p class="h3">THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON</p>
<p>It was not a cave at all. It was an arbour, the
beams of which were moonbeams, so that Monica
stepped straight through into it and sat down upon
a bench.</p>
<p>"Evidently the moon is not made of green cheese,
as Grandnurse always thought," pondered Monica
with the pride of the discoverer. "I must remember
to tell her that." And she was just tying a knot in
her handkerchief to remind herself when she was
startled to hear a musical voice say—</p>
<p>"Are you aware that you are on the wrong side
of the moon?" It belonged to a tiny figure no
bigger than Monica's doll, dressed like a lady
gardener, with apron, straw hat, and big gloves.</p>
<p>"The little blind man in the cave told me it is
the right side for me," replied Monica politely.</p>
<p>"Oh!! He's never done so before. But if
Toady told you that, then no one can blame the
Gardeness. Who are you?"</p>
<p>"I am Monica."</p>
<p>"It's a strange name. Some parents have queer
fancies. You are the first moon child who has ever
come back. How you have grown, to be sure; I
shouldn't have known you!" When she heard<span class="pagenum">[280]</span>
Monica's errand and had refreshed her memory as to
where she lived, she remarked with surprise, "We've<span class="pagenum">[281]</span>
had an order for one to be sent to your address
to-day. We always forward to customers' houses.
But people <i>never</i> come and fetch them. It's a most
unheard-of proceeding!" added the little lady with
a toss of her pretty head. "Where's your check?"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z339" id="z339"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z339.jpg" width-obs="460" height-obs="687" alt="A tiny figure, no bigger than Monica's doll" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">A tiny figure, no bigger than Monica's doll</p>
<p>"Cheque? Have I got to buy it? I've just
spent all my money on a new doll," said Monica,
her eyes filling with tears, "and now I might have
bought the new baby instead!"</p>
<p>"We're on the check system here," said the
little lady, smiling. "Come with me and I'll
show you round, then you'll see what nonsense
you're talking."</p>
<p>Monica brightened up, and they proceeded down
a trim gravel path that had a moonstone wall on
either side and a big door at the end.</p>
<p>"Who are you, please?" asked Monica as they
went along.</p>
<p>"Where you come from, clever people call me
Selene. Here, I am the Gardeness.—Your pass
check," she added in a business-like way. "To
Order or Bearer—which do you want?" The child
hesitated. "You want to order a baby, I suppose?"
The Gardeness was becoming rather impatient.</p>
<p>"Oh yes, I've come to fetch it."</p>
<p>"But you can't have a cheque to Order and
Bearer at the same time."<span class="pagenum">[282]</span></p>
<p>"Can't I?" inquired Monica plaintively. "How
can I take it, then?"</p>
<p>"That will be my business," whispered her
companion mysteriously; then added loudly: "The
little ones are being checked in the Counting
House now. Be quick, or the pick of the choice
will be gone."</p>
<p>"To Order," faltered Monica.</p>
<p>Whereupon her companion pushed the great
door, which swung open, and the quaint pair quickly
passed through. "They are always on order,"
remarked the Gardeness as she led Monica up a
high flight of steps, "but we forward them in our
own way. Excuse my question; it was a matter
of form."</p>
<p>Now they were in the loveliest garden ever seen,
and Monica gave a little sob of delight as she
noticed that all around about her in every flower
nestled the dearest, wee-est little baby imaginable,
whilst hundreds of tiny creatures were tending
them, drying the dew-drops from their big round
eyes, and turning their little bald heads for more
air, all the while humming a refrain which Monica
recognised as her Mother's favourite one, called the
"Bee's Wedding."</p>
<p>At first she marvelled silently at the beauty of
the scene. Then, as she basked in the pervading
warmth, she remembered having been surprised at<span class="pagenum">[283]</span>
seeing the moon and sun out at the same time, and
now realised the moon was sunning its garden of
babies.</p>
<p>"I've brought my bandbox," she remarked,
laughing gaily.</p>
<p>"That's a good thing," replied her companion,
"as it has to be a private transaction. Stoop down,"
and she drew Monica closer to the rows upon
rows of the beautifullest roses, gently moved the
petals of one of them, and revealed embedded in
the heart of the rose its own sweet little baby.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="z342" id="z342"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/z342.jpg" width-obs="497" height-obs="341" alt="Rows upon rows of the beautifullest roses" title=""></div>
<p class="caption">Rows upon rows of the beautifullest roses</p>
<p>Then the Gardeness told Monica with infinite
pride about the flower infants under her care. To<span class="pagenum">[284]</span>
her visitor's remark on their resemblance to each
other, she replied touchily, "I suppose you've seen
many girls called Rose, who were alike when born,
but they differ enough later! It's the same with
the rest."</p>
<p>The Gardeness pointed out to her the children
with the names of Lily, Daisy, Sweet William,
and others, all borne up by their especial flower;
her own flower, the Gardenia; and the Marigold's
Mary; and told her how in some flowers the
children imbibe their tastes from their surroundings.
Thus, as they strolled around, Monica heard
that the Dandelion turns out too foppish a child:
that amongst the wild oats the harum-scarum
boys develop: that the Blue Cornflower babies
remain true to their liking for farinaceous food:
and in Love-lies-bleeding, little Cupids are born.</p>
<p>Monica went through the vegetable garden and
saw the turnips, where the noses of the infants
looked so funny. "They generally take a dislike
to vegetables later on," explained the Gardeness;
"now those over there," pointing to a bed of 18-carrots,
"are as good as gold. But we must not
linger here. You shall have a peep at the orchard,
and visit the Counting House; then you must be
quick and make your choice."</p>
<p>In the orchard were only boy babies, some sweet-tempered,
others sour. The Gardeness wouldn't<span class="pagenum">[285]</span>
recommend a gooseberry one, for it was apt to
grow up silly. There were some rosy, apple-cheeked
ones, but they looked <i>all</i> cheek. Little
gipsy-faced babies peeped with black eyes from
out of the blackberry bushes; whilst in the fruit
and nut trees close by were many pairs of hard-headed
little twins, all Philips and Philippines.</p>
<p>"There's no time," observed the Gardeness,
"to visit the Indian garden, or the Chinese, or the
others; I should like to have shown you some
quaint little baby girls called Peach Blossom in
the Japanese garden. But after all, I suppose you
prefer an English one? They are generally chosen
according to climate." And seeing Monica smile and
nod, she hurried her off to the Counting House.</p>
<p>Monica had not been considering at all what she
should choose, for she had lost her heart to that
first little Rose baby.</p>
<p>Very soon they reached their destination—a long,
low building. "Listen!" said the Gardeness, drawing
her to an open window. "They are actually
quarrelling over it again!" There was a fearful
hubbub going on inside, above which could be
distinguished—</p>
<p>"If one times six is six—six times one must be
one! So that fat infant weighs more than one
and six!"</p>
<p>"Ah!" exclaimed her guide, "a stupid wrangle!<span class="pagenum">[286]</span>
No wonder that complaints arise, and that the children
don't always arrive at their destinations in time.
It causes no end of bother. Pass in!" The noise
ceased, and in the enormous room hundreds of
babies freshly gathered from the garden were being
numbered and ticketed by a regular little army of
miniature hospital nurses, who received instructions
from their superiors standing behind the
counter. As she entered, Monica heard that No.
47,859,056—a dear little Indian baby—was to be
forwarded to some strange-sounding address in
Calcutta, where it was expected in 27 days, 7
hours, 48 minutes, and 11.5 seconds (very business-like,
but it would have been simpler to say that
day next month, for it was a lunar month).</p>
<p>As it was carried away, Monica and her guide
followed and entered the Packing and Forwarding
Department, and saw it wrapped up in cabbage
leaves, packed in one of the numerous bandboxes
which lined the walls, and gently warned that if it
cried much it would crack its voice. Then the
box was labelled "<span class="smcap">FRAGILE! WITH CARE!</span>" and
put down a trap-door in the floor, where it disappeared
from view.</p>
<p>The babies were being brought in rapidly, packed
with all despatch, and each received advice, such
as, to sleep as much as it could after the journey;
when bored, to suck its thumb; to try and get its<span class="pagenum">[287]</span>
own way whenever possible; and when it disapproved,
to express the same in the usual manner.</p>
<p>Immediately they got outside the Gardeness
advised Monica, as her parents were well-to-do, to
choose a set of twins, which were not welcome
everywhere, and thus save them being planted on
a poor family, for they had to be got off somehow,
so were always sent (as if by mistake) where least
expected. But Monica mentioned her choice, and
begged very hard for it. So the Gardeness took
the bandbox from her, bade her wait behind a tree,
and with that little toss of the head went to gather
the Rose baby which had been sent for in so unheard-of
a way. Monica waited there so long that
she became very anxious.</p>
<p>At last the Gardeness returned, pale and out of
breath, hurriedly warned her not to let in any cold
air on to the child, which was packed all snug and
comfortable in the bandbox, and, above all, to make
all speed or she would meet some one she wouldn't
like, showed her a short cut to the boundary, kissed
her hand, and was gone.</p>
<p>Monica, trembling all over with excitement,
hastened away with her precious burden, the difference
in weight being scarcely perceptible. She
ran quickly towards the spot where she had left the
airship, quickly placed her treasure and herself
inside, and had just touched the "drop spring"<span class="pagenum">[288]</span>
when the Man in the Moon appeared, approaching
slowly. His face was turned fully towards her, and
looked quite different from what it had been before,
calm and expressionless. But she did not trust it,
and was thankful when she pushed off and felt the
airship was moving away. Feeling safe at last,
Monica smiled in triumph; with one hand she
raised her bandbox on high, with the other she
waved a farewell. Then the Man, as if in protest,
lifted his arm so that his face once more was hidden
in gloom.</p>
<p>And Monica felt herself dropping, dropping
rapidly into the blackness of the icy cold night.</p>
<hr class="tb">
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<p class="caption splitr" style="margin-top:-75px">The Man Lifted his Arm<br/>So that his Face was once more<br/>hidden in Gloom</p>
<p>She was thinking: "My book says that no one
on earth has ever seen the other side of the moon,
so no one knows what on earth is on the other side
of it. That's why Grandnurse couldn't answer
my questions properly—and the Man wouldn't.
Perhaps even he has never seen the Garden of
Babies, as he was far too tall to enter that
small cave. How lucky I found it all out for
myself!"—when, with a great start she came
to earth and confusedly recognised the lighted
windows of her home. How she got the airship
back into its shed and how she entered the nursery
window she never quite remembered. Throwing
back the heavy curtain from the window seat,<span class="pagenum">[289]</span>
without noticing Grandnurse,
who was in the
room, Monica took off
her coat and cap,
hurriedly placed
them in the
night-nursery,
ran
back, and
peeped
eagerly
under
the lid
of the
bandbox on
the table. It
was empty!!
"Goodness gracious
me, Missie!"
cried Grandnurse.
"Not put yourself to
bed yet!"</p>
<p>"Oh, Grandnurse,
what <i>have</i> you done with
the new baby?" asked<span class="pagenum">[290]</span>
Monica piteously, great tears brimming over her
eyes.</p>
<p>"They must always be unpacked at once, you
know, without a moment's delay. Come and see,
my Poppets, for I'm sure you won't rest without,"
added the kind old woman, leading her away.</p>
<p>And there, in a dressing-room, in a bassinette,
already cosily asleep but still sucking its thumb,
Monica beheld with rapture the tiny Rose baby
she had chosen in that lovely garden high up in
the moon—in Cloudland far away.</p>
<p class="h3">THE END</p>
<p class="spacer"> </p>
<p class="h5">Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.</span><br/>
Edinburgh & London</p>
</div>
</div>
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