TWILIGHT.

[Contents]TWILIGHT.[Contents]CHAPTER I.BARON THIMBLE.A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little[49]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight[50]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently[51]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”“‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head[52]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doingthat.”“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business,[53]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly[54]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.“It’s very dull indeed foryou, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.“Why for me, sir?”“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for[55]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.”[56]“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”“How long will you require me?”“For just one moon. No more.”“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.“Two hundred golden coins.”“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway.[57]Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.[Contents]CHAPTER II.PRINCE PICNIC.The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air KingFancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!”[58]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with[59]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.”[60]“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.“Except what?” said the barber.“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add[61]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered[62]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknownhere, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet[63]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron,[64]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.”[65][Contents]CHAPTER III.LADY LOLLYPOP.The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—“Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest;If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow;Then lead him forth towards the Throne.Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”Ere the last words were well out of her mouth[66]the old dame vanished like a puff of smoke—when or how Tom Brock had no idea whatever. He rubbed his eyes, and was under the impression that the whole thing was an illusion, until his glance rested upon a square white wrapper lying at the foot of the bed. He sprang up immediately, and found a soft cloak large enough to robe a giant. There was no fancy aboutthat, at any rate. He dressed himself hastily, at the same time attempting to repeat the utterances of his strange visitor:—“ ‘Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest.’Very good,” he muttered quickly; “there may be a charm in these words that I cannot conceive. I have a very dangerous task before me, and I’ll try it. Luckily this is just the time of day to catch Mr. Gorilla asleep. What’s the next line?—“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.’Humph! I can answer for the razors. They’re sharp enough to cut the throat of my ugly customer, if he tries any of his tricks.Then:—“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow.’[67]“All right so far. After which I’m to lead him into the reception-hall before Prince Picnic. Just so. Now to set about it.”The barber prepared his razors and lather, and taking the white robe on his arm he went out along the broad corridor towards the garden. Within a small grass plot encircled by tall trees Tom discovered the Gorilla fast asleep. With noiseless footsteps our hero formed a wide ring round the sleeping monster with his fingers, and then stepped within the charmed circle and approached his subject. Strange to relate, the Gorilla never stirred—not even when Tom, with the taste of a genuine artist, began operations upon his capacious chin. Nature seemed hushed while the barber performed his business. Above, below, and around a deep stillness reigned, save for the scraping, grating sound of Tom Brock’s blade.Meanwhile Prince Picnic held a grand council of state in the magnificent reception-hall of his palace. Previously an edict had gone forth which summoned the rank, beauty, and fashion of the land to witness the marriage of Lady Lollypop and Gorilla. And here they were assembled for the imposing event, which should unite the Beauty and the Beast.[68]Ah, me! Who shall attempt to describe the splendour of that gathering? The Ruler of Twilight was seated on a throne of pure gold, which had been oxidized to every shade of colour, and wrought in the most beautiful mosaic imaginable. At her father’s side reclined the Bi-ba-be-bi, receiving the homage of the young nobles and the long-bearded functionaries of state. The walls and ceiling of the throne chamber were entirely covered with wide sheets of burnished gold to reflect as mirrors. On each side of the dais there extended rank upon rank of high-born dames and courtiers robed in stuffs of silk and gold, embroidered with flowers so as to present the most perfect imitations of nature.Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet tones of the choir of fairy musicians, hidden from view—now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody. Down the sides of the lofty pillared hall a bright band of dancing fays, each as lovely as a child’s dream, advanced and retired, crossed and interlaced in a whirling maze of shifting light, which defeated the eye in following their quick and graceful evolutions. Amongst that fair galaxy of beauty, Bi-ba-be-bi stood out peerless in her loveliness. Round the soft cushions on which she reclined were gathered her[69]four handmaids, See-Saw, Hide and Seek, Marjory Daw, and Down-Dilly.Behind the throne stood Ride-a-cock-horse, the prime minister, Gaboon, the jester, and the high officials of the kingdom. At a sign from Baron Thimble the music ceased and the dancers dispersed. Then Prince Picnic rose, and said briefly,—“People of Twilight, I have called you together to witness the marriage of our daughter, the Lady Lollypop. I am aware that this Court had decided that our dear and lamented nephew Prince Pippin should have been her husband; but the gallant youth perished three years ago on those self-same Leap Frog Mountains where I and my retinue were captured by Gorilla. The chief of Gorilla-land is now here to claim the bond I gave him for our release.”A deep hush had fallen o’er the vast crowd as the Prince paused.“Prince Pippin was a handsome youth and a gallant gentleman,” whispered See-Saw.“True, and our lady loved him well,” replied Down-Dilly.The daughter of Prince Picnic heard the whispering, and sighed audibly.“Ay, but the young Prince is dead. Hush!”[70]“Dames and nobles,” continued His Highness mournfully, “we have given our sacred word that this monster shall marry Bi-ba-be-bi. Therefore we cannot depart from that pledge in the smallest particular. What, ho there! Let the bridegroom come forth and claim his bride.”As the Ruler of Twilight uttered the words, every eye was directed towards the great folding doors at the farther end of the audience chamber, which were instantly drawn apart, and Tom Brock entered, leading the tall figure of his patient, muffled from head to feet in the white cloak.Poor Lady Lollypop uttered a stifled shriek of fear as her gaze fell upon the muffled form of her intended lord and master.The barber advanced with his companion to the foot of the throne, and there halted for a moment, then retired behind the throng of courtiers, leaving the closely covered monster standing alone.“Art thou still resolved to have the Pearl of Twilight for thy wife?” asked Ride-a-cock-horse in a loud voice.The mantled figure trembled visibly, but held his peace.“Let the chief of Gorilla-land show himself, if he is not afraid,” cried Gaboon, advancing from out[71]of the ring of nobles by which he was surrounded. Swifter than the electrical fire athwart a thunder-cloud the folding mantle vanished from that form, and revealed—not the hateful beast, but a tall, handsome young man, robed in a superb hunting costume of the country. The gaze of Bi-ba-be-bi had no sooner rested upon him than she sprang from the midst of her ladies with a glad cry of recognition, and cast herself upon his bosom. “Prince Pippin! Cousin! My own dear love, you are not dead!”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”Dead, not at all. Twilight is a region of[72]enchantment, dear readers. Dame Trot, the witch of the Leap Frog Ranges, had fallen across the young Prince while hunting in the mountains, and had changed him into a Gorilla. Such he had remained and had taken his uncle prisoner. When the news, however, of the marriage between Lady Lollypop and the supposed monster reached the old magician she relented of her wickedness by appearing at the bedside of the barber and speaking the words which annulled the charm.There was great rejoicing at the court of Prince Picnic over the event; but the gladness and the display were increased a hundredfold when the cousins were married.Tom Brock, loaded with substantial presents, returned home to his wife and family, and brought a piece of the wedding-cake for the former, which quite dissipated any lurking jealousy there might have been in her mind respecting his absence.The little corner shop knows our friend the barber no more. His residence is now in the aristocratic suburb of Toorak—a magnificent mansion known as “Faydell,” and for which he may thank Bi-ba-be-bi and her royal husband Prince Pippin.[73][Contents]TIM.The sinking sun cast a soft amber-tinted radiance over the little township of Wentworth, New South Wales, as a little boy, weary and footsore with travel, knocked at a farmer’s door about two miles beyond the settlement.A kind, motherly woman who answered the knock stared with astonishment at the juvenile tramp, who blurted out in a faint voice, “If you please, ma’am, will you give me a drink of water? I’m so hungry, I really don’t know where I shall sleep to-night.”The good lady laughed heartily at the little fellow’s quaint request. She took him into the house, and led him into a back room, where a great fat man was seated at tea.“Who is this, wife?” said he in a surly tone, looking at our hero.“Only a poor boy begging some food, Mark; that’s all,” answered his wife meekly.[74]“I didn’t beg, ma’am, please,” said the boy quickly.“Oh, you didn’t beg?” rejoined the farmer in the same gruff voice. “Git down on that stool now.”“I came a very long way, sir, and I——” began the boy.“Silence! Wife, take his bundle; pull off his old shoes; let him be washed; then give him his tea.” The voice lost nothing of its coarse disagreeable ring as it gave the curt order, but the man’s eyes looked kindly at the little wanderer.“What is your name?” still gruffly.“Tim, sir, please.”“Timwhat? Hav’n’t you another name?”“No, sir. Nuggety Joe never called me anything else than Tim.”“And who is Nuggety Joe?” asked the farmer.The boy played nervously with the edge of his tattered jacket for a moment, and then replied in a voice broken and unsteady with emotion, “Please, sir, father and Joe were mates on the diggings at Forbes. When the great dam broke and flooded the creek, and drowned father, mother, and little sister Jessie, Joe took care of me, and was a father to me—he was—until[75]he took the fever, and died, and then I——” The child’s quavering voice gave way to a fit of bitter wailing.“Stop that!” cried the farmer, putting his handkerchief to his nose, and making that organ sound like a French horn—“stop it at once. I’ll have no snivelling here.”But poor Tim sobbed on; and notwithstanding all the womanly sympathy of the farmer’s wife, she could not stay the torrent. Not yet in his “teens,” the brave lad walked over two hundred miles, suffering hunger and pain with the courage of a Spartan; but he had no courage to put back the tears that swelled upwards at the remembrance of that rude, unlettered, dead digger, who had loved him, and had taken him to his bosom for Christ’s sake, and who had now gone to receive his reward.All things have an end, so the fountain of Tim’s eyes became dry again ere the tea was over. Before the lad was sent to bed, the farmer said, “Look here, boy, I think I can give you something to do on my farm. Mind, I’ll set you a task the first thing in the morning; if you perform it to my satisfaction, and you likewise prove yourself an honest, trustworthy youngster, why, you shall never want a home or a friend[76]while Mark Wilson lives. Now, wife, put him to bed.”The good dame led Tim to a small attic bedroom, which contained, amongst other things, a beautiful parrot in a stout wire cage.“Cockie” had evidently been enjoying a nap, for he shook himself at sight of the intruders, and sent forth from his bill a volley of strange sounds, in true imitation of a person just aroused from slumber. Mrs. Wilson kissed our hero and retired, but she had hardly closed the door before the bird began to flap his wings and crow like a rooster.“A funny parrot,” muttered Tim. “I wonder if it can talk?”“Of course it can,” answered Cockie, eyeing him through the bars of the cage. The lad rubbed his eyes, and stared at the bird in the cage for fully three minutes without speaking a word, so great was his consternation. “Don’t stare, Tim; it’s very rude to stare,” continued the bird gravely. “People in this colony have a bad habit of staring you out of countenance, I am sorry to say.”“Why, you can talk like a man,” cried the boy in his astonishment.“Certainly; much better than some men, I[77]trust. Pray come here and scratch me, Tim,” cried the parrot coaxingly.Little Tim obeyed very cautiously, and in fear and trembling.“That is delightful,” said Cockie.“It’s wonderful,” muttered poor Tim.“What is wonderful, sir? Can’t parrots talk?”“Some of them can, but not like you.”“Oh! but I’m not a parrot, I’m a fairy.”“A fairy?” cried the boy, agape with wonder. “Are you really?”“Truly I am. One of the Lake George fairies. Xanthine, our Queen, turned me into a parrot, five years ago, through her foolish jealousy, and here I’ve been caged up ever since with this great beak upon my face, which quite disfigures me.”“What a shame! Can’t you get back again to your friend at Lake George?” cried the boy.“Yes, for Queen Xanthine is dead, and I can now return in safety, if you will help me,” replied the bird.“Me! how can I help you?” answered little Tim.“I will tell you” rejoined the elfin. “You must know, boy, that every one of us could help each other if we would. The rich can help the poor, and the poor the wealthy; yea, even the smallest[78]can render assistance to the strong and powerful, as was the case with the lion and the mouse. Now, I can prove how I can render you a service. Judge. Didn’t the master say he would set you a task in the morning?”“He did,” replied Tim in wonder.“Very well. The task is to milk a bad-tempered, touchy old cow called ‘Peggy.’ The beast, who is a splendid milker, is the torment and plague of the farmer’s life. She has kicked him until he is afraid to approach her, and every one, man, woman, and boy, who attempts to milk Peggy is sure to be upset. It has proved useless to tie her by the leg and the tail—the wicked rogue would find a way of defeating her enemies before the milking was ended.”“Are you sure that I shall have to try to milk Peggy in the morning?” inquired Tim.“Quite certain,” replied the elfin.“Then I—I think I had better go away now, at once, before the morning, don’t you?” said the lad ruefully.“No, I don’t, because I can tell you how to overcome the antics of this refractory cow.”“How?”“I will tell you upon one condition,” replied the fairy parrot, rubbing its beak reflectively.[79]“What condition?” asked Tim.“That you set me free as soon as you have completed your task to-morrow.”“It’s a bargain,” replied little Tim readily. “I can easily get the farmer another parrot—a real bird, you know—and then there will be no harm done.”“Very good. Now listen. On the gable of this house there grows a creeper with a pale blue flower. In the morning, when they call you, go and gather a small wreath of this plant, and when the wicked cow is bailed up ready for milking, place the vine around her horns, and you may take the word of an Australian fairy that Peggy will stand as quiet as a mouse until you have drained her teats as dry as a corn cob.”“Lor! how simple!” replied Tim.“All knowledge is simple, boy, when you once acquire it. You’ll not forget my instructions?”“No, I thank you. I shall remember.”“Kiss Cockie, then, say your prayers like a good boy, and go to bed. Good-night.”Tim wished to ask the fairy bird a hundred questions, but after it had said good-night it would not utter another word, so the boy went to bed and fell asleep.The sun was up before him in the morning.[80]Yet Tim managed to get down into the garden and cut a slender tendril from the creeper, which he formed into a small hoop, just as the farmer’s voice was heard calling him.Twenty cows had to be milked every morning at the farm, and Tim heard a great deal of shouting and bellowing, and clanking of milk-cans, which proceeded from a yard at hand, enclosed with a high fence and into which the cattle had been driven.The farmer led our hero into the enclosure, and pointing to where the ill-tempered short-horn stood, with her head in the bail, said briefly, “Sit down and milk that cow.”The boy went up to Peggy, who gave a loud bellow at sight of him. He placed the vine around her horns, then sat down to his task. Mark Wilson stood ready to pick the boy up in case the cow knocked him over; but the beast never moved until the boy had drawn every drop of milk from her teats. The good farmer was filled with amazement, and cried out, “Twenty-five boys and ten men have all tried to milk Peggy, and not one of them has succeeded but you. Therefore, from this moment, I will adopt you as my son, Tim, and you shall marry my little girl Amy, by-and-by, and I will leave you the[81]farm as a wedding present.” And the farmer kept his word.When Tim went upstairs to set the parrot free, he found the bird transformed into a beautiful wee lady, whom he politely lifted out of the cage. She thanked him, and made him a graceful curtsey as she vanished out of the window.[82][Contents]THREE SPARROWS.Toby Grumbleton worked with his uncle down in one of the deepest mines in Ballarat. If you had searched the whole district in that gold hunting region, you couldn’t have found a more selfish, lazy, and disobedient boy than Toby. In consequence of his surly and complaining disposition his companions had bestowed upon him the nickname of “Toby the Growler,” and he well deserved the title; for a greater snivelling, discontented youth never existed.“‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’”“ ‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’ ”One day, while at work in the mine, Toby was ordered to gather together all the blunt tools and send them up to the surface to be sharpened. As usual, Toby began to grumble, whereupon his uncle gave him a good thrashing, and the “Growler” ran off into one of the usual drives or passages of the mine to indulge in a sulking fit. Of the many dark and wide caverns underground, none in the whole pit was so large and so gloomy and dismal as the one in which “Toby[83]the Growler” had taken refuge, yet the boy had not been there long before he became aware of a strange yellow-coloured glow lighting up the drive. Looking up, he beheld a little old dwarf, with a lamp in his hand, standing over him. Such a plain, ugly-looking creature Toby had never seen before, though there are any number of queer-looking fellows at Ballarat. The intruder was small, not nearly so tall as Toby, but his head was a rasper, and appeared as if it had[84]belonged to several ancient individuals in succession, the eyes very red, and omitting a fiery glow. He was attired in a suit of brown russet, with a long sugar-loaf hat, and a crutch staff.“Get up, Toby the Growler, and follow me,” cried the dwarf in a brief tone, and looking at him with those horrid eyes. Toby felt inclined to disobey, but his heart sank within him at sight of the creature, and he therefore followed, grumbling as he went, and wondering where the ugly little humpback would lead him. Of one thing the boy was certain—that the end of the subterranean passage would effectually bar the progress of the unwelcome visitor; but the dim cave seemed to extend and open out before them as they proceeded, until it took the shape of a long railway tunnel, from which they at length emerged into the bright open sunlight, beaming down upon a landscape fairer than a child’s dream. The sudden transit from what appeared to be the bowels of a great high mountain to the noonday light almost blinded our friend Toby; but the dwarf touched him with his staff, and lo! the boy beheld a charming country teeming with life and beauty. Here were soft grassy spots, shaded by trees bending with ripe and golden-hued fruit; yonder a range of hills clothed with richest verdure, and[85]at the feet of which a broad lake gleamed like a burnished shield. There were swans on the lake, and birds of bright plumage on the trees and in the air, and birds everywhere around.“What place is this, sir?” cried Toby in amazement.“This is the land of the three sparrows,” answered the dwarf with a smile. “Look there; that little white building is the home of ‘Test,’ the eldest of the three; yonder by the water is the palace of ‘Try,’ while on the hills over there you can see the castle of ‘Cure,’ the youngest.”“Are they real sparrows, sir?” asked Toby.“No, boy, only in form. They are Australian elves. Every twenty years the great body of elfins in this country transform three of their number into the shape of sparrows, to govern this land, and also for other purposes, of which you may judge for yourself.” Saying which, the dwarf caught the Growler in his arms, and in an instant they were standing by the white palace on the lake. All the windows and doors were wide open, so the dwarf entered with his companion and conducted him to a large room where Test sat perched on the back of an armchair. He seemed a well-feathered, plump old bird and wore spectacles.[86]“Ah, Grip, my trusty messenger,” he cried, “I see you have returned with the Growler; take him hence and test him in the usual way.”“Very well, your Excellency,” and the dwarf bent low in obeisance and retired. He led Toby away into a large empty hall, and standing him up beside the door, said, “Toby, Toby, shut your eyes and see what Fate will send you.” The Growler closed his eyes, when the voice of the dwarf was again heard. “Toby, Toby, open your eyes and see what Fatehassent you.”The boy opened his eyes and beheld the most magnificent apartment it is possible to conceive. Tables with marble tops, inlaid with gold, were loaded with choice fruits and lollies, and by some enchantment the boy’s ragged clothes were changed to a gorgeous suit of crimson velvet, bordered with pearls, and several servants stood at hand ready to do his bidding.“Ah, this is as it should be!” cried the delighted Toby. “I shall never grumble again if I am to live like this. Here are guns to shoot with; dogs to hunt with; horses to ride, and plenty of fishing in the lake. Ah! I shall be thoroughly satisfied now.” And the Growler set about enjoying himself.But alas! for human resolves. The fruit made[87]Toby ill; one of the horses threw him and hurt his leg; he nearly shot himself with his gun; and was all but drowned in the lake while fishing; and so he began to complain worse than before. But the moment he did so, the splendid scene vanished from before him in the twinkling of an eye, and he discovered himself in the bare and empty room again, with only his dirty rags, and the dwarf standing grinning beside him.“Come along with me, Toby the Growler,” cried the old fellow in a mocking tone; and before the boy could refuse he was borne away to the palace of Try. This old and venerable sparrow was deep in the pages of theObserverwhen Grip entered with Toby.“Whom have we here?” he inquired, addressing the dwarf.“Please, your Worship, this is a mortal who has been tested by your Worship’s brother, and has failed,” answered Grip.“What is his special defect?”“Grumbling, your Worship.”“Humph! a common quality among mortals, more especially with farmers and boys. Try him without delay.”With the quickness of a shifting scene in a[88]magic-lantern Toby was transferred to a cottage in a lonely valley, occupied by an old lady and gentleman, who welcomed him as if he had been their own son, and procured for him all that he could desire. The whole day was one round of pleasure and enjoyment, and the boy expressed himself grateful and satisfied with his position. One simple act he had to perform in return for all this kindness, and that was to draw seven buckets of water from a well every morning, for the use of the cottage. Yet Toby the Growler, unmindful of past experience, began to grumble again, and once more he found himself by the lake with the dwarf at his elbow.“For the last time, come with me, Toby the Growler,” he cried in a terrible voice, while his red flaming eyes shot out flashes like fire. The boy felt utterly powerless to resist, and swift as a streak of lightning he was carried to the gloomy abode of Cure, the youngest of the three sparrows. The castle was as dark as a dungeon, but the guide found his way within to the reception-hall, where Cure, in regal feathers, sat surrounded by a guard of crows bearing torches.“Who is this?” inquired the youngest sparrow sternly.“A grumbling boy, your Highness.”[89]“Let him be cured. Take him away.”The words were scarcely spoken ere poor Toby found himself instantly transformed into a donkey with long ears. He was on a hard, hilly road, dragging a heavy dray after him loaded with firewood. At first the lad felt somewhat doubtful respecting the sudden transformation, but a smart thump across his buttock soon convinced him he was no longer an idle boy, but a beast of burden, with a cruel youth for his master, who beat and bruised him unmercifully with a thick stick. Oh! the long and weary hours he had to toil, while the miserable food he had to eat made him weep, and wet the winkers with his tears. He thought of his uncle and his home, and all the many kindnesses he had received, and had repaid with complaints and grumblings, and he vowed earnestly, and with true penitence, that if ever he got back again to the mine and to his kind relative, he would avoid complaining for the rest of his life.With this firm resolve came another sudden shifting in the magic scene. So sudden was it that Toby rubbed his eyes, and found himself in that self-same narrow drive in the mine at Ballarat, with his uncle shaking him by the[90]collar, and telling him that it was time to go to the surface.Toby is a man now, and is married and has several children; and if one of these begins to grumble, he does not forget to remind them of the Three Sparrows.[91]

[Contents]TWILIGHT.[Contents]CHAPTER I.BARON THIMBLE.A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little[49]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight[50]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently[51]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”“‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head[52]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doingthat.”“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business,[53]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly[54]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.“It’s very dull indeed foryou, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.“Why for me, sir?”“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for[55]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.”[56]“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”“How long will you require me?”“For just one moon. No more.”“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.“Two hundred golden coins.”“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway.[57]Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.[Contents]CHAPTER II.PRINCE PICNIC.The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air KingFancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!”[58]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with[59]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.”[60]“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.“Except what?” said the barber.“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add[61]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered[62]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknownhere, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet[63]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron,[64]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.”[65][Contents]CHAPTER III.LADY LOLLYPOP.The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—“Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest;If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow;Then lead him forth towards the Throne.Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”Ere the last words were well out of her mouth[66]the old dame vanished like a puff of smoke—when or how Tom Brock had no idea whatever. He rubbed his eyes, and was under the impression that the whole thing was an illusion, until his glance rested upon a square white wrapper lying at the foot of the bed. He sprang up immediately, and found a soft cloak large enough to robe a giant. There was no fancy aboutthat, at any rate. He dressed himself hastily, at the same time attempting to repeat the utterances of his strange visitor:—“ ‘Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest.’Very good,” he muttered quickly; “there may be a charm in these words that I cannot conceive. I have a very dangerous task before me, and I’ll try it. Luckily this is just the time of day to catch Mr. Gorilla asleep. What’s the next line?—“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.’Humph! I can answer for the razors. They’re sharp enough to cut the throat of my ugly customer, if he tries any of his tricks.Then:—“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow.’[67]“All right so far. After which I’m to lead him into the reception-hall before Prince Picnic. Just so. Now to set about it.”The barber prepared his razors and lather, and taking the white robe on his arm he went out along the broad corridor towards the garden. Within a small grass plot encircled by tall trees Tom discovered the Gorilla fast asleep. With noiseless footsteps our hero formed a wide ring round the sleeping monster with his fingers, and then stepped within the charmed circle and approached his subject. Strange to relate, the Gorilla never stirred—not even when Tom, with the taste of a genuine artist, began operations upon his capacious chin. Nature seemed hushed while the barber performed his business. Above, below, and around a deep stillness reigned, save for the scraping, grating sound of Tom Brock’s blade.Meanwhile Prince Picnic held a grand council of state in the magnificent reception-hall of his palace. Previously an edict had gone forth which summoned the rank, beauty, and fashion of the land to witness the marriage of Lady Lollypop and Gorilla. And here they were assembled for the imposing event, which should unite the Beauty and the Beast.[68]Ah, me! Who shall attempt to describe the splendour of that gathering? The Ruler of Twilight was seated on a throne of pure gold, which had been oxidized to every shade of colour, and wrought in the most beautiful mosaic imaginable. At her father’s side reclined the Bi-ba-be-bi, receiving the homage of the young nobles and the long-bearded functionaries of state. The walls and ceiling of the throne chamber were entirely covered with wide sheets of burnished gold to reflect as mirrors. On each side of the dais there extended rank upon rank of high-born dames and courtiers robed in stuffs of silk and gold, embroidered with flowers so as to present the most perfect imitations of nature.Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet tones of the choir of fairy musicians, hidden from view—now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody. Down the sides of the lofty pillared hall a bright band of dancing fays, each as lovely as a child’s dream, advanced and retired, crossed and interlaced in a whirling maze of shifting light, which defeated the eye in following their quick and graceful evolutions. Amongst that fair galaxy of beauty, Bi-ba-be-bi stood out peerless in her loveliness. Round the soft cushions on which she reclined were gathered her[69]four handmaids, See-Saw, Hide and Seek, Marjory Daw, and Down-Dilly.Behind the throne stood Ride-a-cock-horse, the prime minister, Gaboon, the jester, and the high officials of the kingdom. At a sign from Baron Thimble the music ceased and the dancers dispersed. Then Prince Picnic rose, and said briefly,—“People of Twilight, I have called you together to witness the marriage of our daughter, the Lady Lollypop. I am aware that this Court had decided that our dear and lamented nephew Prince Pippin should have been her husband; but the gallant youth perished three years ago on those self-same Leap Frog Mountains where I and my retinue were captured by Gorilla. The chief of Gorilla-land is now here to claim the bond I gave him for our release.”A deep hush had fallen o’er the vast crowd as the Prince paused.“Prince Pippin was a handsome youth and a gallant gentleman,” whispered See-Saw.“True, and our lady loved him well,” replied Down-Dilly.The daughter of Prince Picnic heard the whispering, and sighed audibly.“Ay, but the young Prince is dead. Hush!”[70]“Dames and nobles,” continued His Highness mournfully, “we have given our sacred word that this monster shall marry Bi-ba-be-bi. Therefore we cannot depart from that pledge in the smallest particular. What, ho there! Let the bridegroom come forth and claim his bride.”As the Ruler of Twilight uttered the words, every eye was directed towards the great folding doors at the farther end of the audience chamber, which were instantly drawn apart, and Tom Brock entered, leading the tall figure of his patient, muffled from head to feet in the white cloak.Poor Lady Lollypop uttered a stifled shriek of fear as her gaze fell upon the muffled form of her intended lord and master.The barber advanced with his companion to the foot of the throne, and there halted for a moment, then retired behind the throng of courtiers, leaving the closely covered monster standing alone.“Art thou still resolved to have the Pearl of Twilight for thy wife?” asked Ride-a-cock-horse in a loud voice.The mantled figure trembled visibly, but held his peace.“Let the chief of Gorilla-land show himself, if he is not afraid,” cried Gaboon, advancing from out[71]of the ring of nobles by which he was surrounded. Swifter than the electrical fire athwart a thunder-cloud the folding mantle vanished from that form, and revealed—not the hateful beast, but a tall, handsome young man, robed in a superb hunting costume of the country. The gaze of Bi-ba-be-bi had no sooner rested upon him than she sprang from the midst of her ladies with a glad cry of recognition, and cast herself upon his bosom. “Prince Pippin! Cousin! My own dear love, you are not dead!”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”Dead, not at all. Twilight is a region of[72]enchantment, dear readers. Dame Trot, the witch of the Leap Frog Ranges, had fallen across the young Prince while hunting in the mountains, and had changed him into a Gorilla. Such he had remained and had taken his uncle prisoner. When the news, however, of the marriage between Lady Lollypop and the supposed monster reached the old magician she relented of her wickedness by appearing at the bedside of the barber and speaking the words which annulled the charm.There was great rejoicing at the court of Prince Picnic over the event; but the gladness and the display were increased a hundredfold when the cousins were married.Tom Brock, loaded with substantial presents, returned home to his wife and family, and brought a piece of the wedding-cake for the former, which quite dissipated any lurking jealousy there might have been in her mind respecting his absence.The little corner shop knows our friend the barber no more. His residence is now in the aristocratic suburb of Toorak—a magnificent mansion known as “Faydell,” and for which he may thank Bi-ba-be-bi and her royal husband Prince Pippin.[73]

TWILIGHT.

[Contents]CHAPTER I.BARON THIMBLE.A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little[49]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight[50]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently[51]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”“‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head[52]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doingthat.”“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business,[53]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly[54]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.“It’s very dull indeed foryou, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.“Why for me, sir?”“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for[55]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.”[56]“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”“How long will you require me?”“For just one moon. No more.”“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.“Two hundred golden coins.”“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway.[57]Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.[Contents]CHAPTER II.PRINCE PICNIC.The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air KingFancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!”[58]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with[59]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.”[60]“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.“Except what?” said the barber.“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add[61]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered[62]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknownhere, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet[63]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron,[64]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.”[65][Contents]CHAPTER III.LADY LOLLYPOP.The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—“Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest;If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow;Then lead him forth towards the Throne.Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”Ere the last words were well out of her mouth[66]the old dame vanished like a puff of smoke—when or how Tom Brock had no idea whatever. He rubbed his eyes, and was under the impression that the whole thing was an illusion, until his glance rested upon a square white wrapper lying at the foot of the bed. He sprang up immediately, and found a soft cloak large enough to robe a giant. There was no fancy aboutthat, at any rate. He dressed himself hastily, at the same time attempting to repeat the utterances of his strange visitor:—“ ‘Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest.’Very good,” he muttered quickly; “there may be a charm in these words that I cannot conceive. I have a very dangerous task before me, and I’ll try it. Luckily this is just the time of day to catch Mr. Gorilla asleep. What’s the next line?—“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.’Humph! I can answer for the razors. They’re sharp enough to cut the throat of my ugly customer, if he tries any of his tricks.Then:—“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow.’[67]“All right so far. After which I’m to lead him into the reception-hall before Prince Picnic. Just so. Now to set about it.”The barber prepared his razors and lather, and taking the white robe on his arm he went out along the broad corridor towards the garden. Within a small grass plot encircled by tall trees Tom discovered the Gorilla fast asleep. With noiseless footsteps our hero formed a wide ring round the sleeping monster with his fingers, and then stepped within the charmed circle and approached his subject. Strange to relate, the Gorilla never stirred—not even when Tom, with the taste of a genuine artist, began operations upon his capacious chin. Nature seemed hushed while the barber performed his business. Above, below, and around a deep stillness reigned, save for the scraping, grating sound of Tom Brock’s blade.Meanwhile Prince Picnic held a grand council of state in the magnificent reception-hall of his palace. Previously an edict had gone forth which summoned the rank, beauty, and fashion of the land to witness the marriage of Lady Lollypop and Gorilla. And here they were assembled for the imposing event, which should unite the Beauty and the Beast.[68]Ah, me! Who shall attempt to describe the splendour of that gathering? The Ruler of Twilight was seated on a throne of pure gold, which had been oxidized to every shade of colour, and wrought in the most beautiful mosaic imaginable. At her father’s side reclined the Bi-ba-be-bi, receiving the homage of the young nobles and the long-bearded functionaries of state. The walls and ceiling of the throne chamber were entirely covered with wide sheets of burnished gold to reflect as mirrors. On each side of the dais there extended rank upon rank of high-born dames and courtiers robed in stuffs of silk and gold, embroidered with flowers so as to present the most perfect imitations of nature.Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet tones of the choir of fairy musicians, hidden from view—now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody. Down the sides of the lofty pillared hall a bright band of dancing fays, each as lovely as a child’s dream, advanced and retired, crossed and interlaced in a whirling maze of shifting light, which defeated the eye in following their quick and graceful evolutions. Amongst that fair galaxy of beauty, Bi-ba-be-bi stood out peerless in her loveliness. Round the soft cushions on which she reclined were gathered her[69]four handmaids, See-Saw, Hide and Seek, Marjory Daw, and Down-Dilly.Behind the throne stood Ride-a-cock-horse, the prime minister, Gaboon, the jester, and the high officials of the kingdom. At a sign from Baron Thimble the music ceased and the dancers dispersed. Then Prince Picnic rose, and said briefly,—“People of Twilight, I have called you together to witness the marriage of our daughter, the Lady Lollypop. I am aware that this Court had decided that our dear and lamented nephew Prince Pippin should have been her husband; but the gallant youth perished three years ago on those self-same Leap Frog Mountains where I and my retinue were captured by Gorilla. The chief of Gorilla-land is now here to claim the bond I gave him for our release.”A deep hush had fallen o’er the vast crowd as the Prince paused.“Prince Pippin was a handsome youth and a gallant gentleman,” whispered See-Saw.“True, and our lady loved him well,” replied Down-Dilly.The daughter of Prince Picnic heard the whispering, and sighed audibly.“Ay, but the young Prince is dead. Hush!”[70]“Dames and nobles,” continued His Highness mournfully, “we have given our sacred word that this monster shall marry Bi-ba-be-bi. Therefore we cannot depart from that pledge in the smallest particular. What, ho there! Let the bridegroom come forth and claim his bride.”As the Ruler of Twilight uttered the words, every eye was directed towards the great folding doors at the farther end of the audience chamber, which were instantly drawn apart, and Tom Brock entered, leading the tall figure of his patient, muffled from head to feet in the white cloak.Poor Lady Lollypop uttered a stifled shriek of fear as her gaze fell upon the muffled form of her intended lord and master.The barber advanced with his companion to the foot of the throne, and there halted for a moment, then retired behind the throng of courtiers, leaving the closely covered monster standing alone.“Art thou still resolved to have the Pearl of Twilight for thy wife?” asked Ride-a-cock-horse in a loud voice.The mantled figure trembled visibly, but held his peace.“Let the chief of Gorilla-land show himself, if he is not afraid,” cried Gaboon, advancing from out[71]of the ring of nobles by which he was surrounded. Swifter than the electrical fire athwart a thunder-cloud the folding mantle vanished from that form, and revealed—not the hateful beast, but a tall, handsome young man, robed in a superb hunting costume of the country. The gaze of Bi-ba-be-bi had no sooner rested upon him than she sprang from the midst of her ladies with a glad cry of recognition, and cast herself upon his bosom. “Prince Pippin! Cousin! My own dear love, you are not dead!”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”Dead, not at all. Twilight is a region of[72]enchantment, dear readers. Dame Trot, the witch of the Leap Frog Ranges, had fallen across the young Prince while hunting in the mountains, and had changed him into a Gorilla. Such he had remained and had taken his uncle prisoner. When the news, however, of the marriage between Lady Lollypop and the supposed monster reached the old magician she relented of her wickedness by appearing at the bedside of the barber and speaking the words which annulled the charm.There was great rejoicing at the court of Prince Picnic over the event; but the gladness and the display were increased a hundredfold when the cousins were married.Tom Brock, loaded with substantial presents, returned home to his wife and family, and brought a piece of the wedding-cake for the former, which quite dissipated any lurking jealousy there might have been in her mind respecting his absence.The little corner shop knows our friend the barber no more. His residence is now in the aristocratic suburb of Toorak—a magnificent mansion known as “Faydell,” and for which he may thank Bi-ba-be-bi and her royal husband Prince Pippin.[73]

[Contents]CHAPTER I.BARON THIMBLE.A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little[49]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight[50]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently[51]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”“‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head[52]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doingthat.”“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business,[53]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly[54]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.“It’s very dull indeed foryou, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.“Why for me, sir?”“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for[55]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.”[56]“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”“How long will you require me?”“For just one moon. No more.”“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.“Two hundred golden coins.”“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway.[57]Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.

CHAPTER I.BARON THIMBLE.

A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little[49]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight[50]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently[51]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”“‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head[52]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doingthat.”“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business,[53]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly[54]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.“It’s very dull indeed foryou, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.“Why for me, sir?”“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for[55]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.”[56]“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”“How long will you require me?”“For just one moon. No more.”“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.“Two hundred golden coins.”“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway.[57]Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.

A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.

Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.

Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little[49]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”

On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.

“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight[50]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”

He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”

The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently[51]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”

“‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”

“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”

Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head[52]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.

“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”

The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.

“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.

“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doingthat.”

“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”

“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.

Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business,[53]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.

Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.

“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.

The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly[54]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.

“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”

The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.

“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”

“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”

“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.

“It’s very dull indeed foryou, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.

“Why for me, sir?”

“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.

Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.

“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for[55]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.

“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”

The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.

“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.

“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.

“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.”[56]

“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”

“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”

“How long will you require me?”

“For just one moon. No more.”

“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.

“Two hundred golden coins.”

“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”

“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”

“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”

“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”

And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway.[57]

Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.

[Contents]CHAPTER II.PRINCE PICNIC.The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air KingFancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!”[58]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with[59]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.”[60]“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.“Except what?” said the barber.“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add[61]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered[62]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknownhere, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet[63]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron,[64]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.”[65]

CHAPTER II.PRINCE PICNIC.

The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air KingFancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!”[58]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with[59]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.”[60]“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.“Except what?” said the barber.“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add[61]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered[62]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknownhere, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet[63]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron,[64]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.”[65]

The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air KingFancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.

Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.

“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!”[58]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.

Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.

“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”

The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with[59]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”

“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.

“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”

“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.

“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.”[60]

“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”

“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.

“Except what?” said the barber.

“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add[61]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”

Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.

“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.

“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”

“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.

“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.

“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”

The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”

“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”

“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered[62]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”

“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.

“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknownhere, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”

A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet[63]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.

The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron,[64]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.

It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.

The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.”[65]

[Contents]CHAPTER III.LADY LOLLYPOP.The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—“Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest;If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow;Then lead him forth towards the Throne.Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”Ere the last words were well out of her mouth[66]the old dame vanished like a puff of smoke—when or how Tom Brock had no idea whatever. He rubbed his eyes, and was under the impression that the whole thing was an illusion, until his glance rested upon a square white wrapper lying at the foot of the bed. He sprang up immediately, and found a soft cloak large enough to robe a giant. There was no fancy aboutthat, at any rate. He dressed himself hastily, at the same time attempting to repeat the utterances of his strange visitor:—“ ‘Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest.’Very good,” he muttered quickly; “there may be a charm in these words that I cannot conceive. I have a very dangerous task before me, and I’ll try it. Luckily this is just the time of day to catch Mr. Gorilla asleep. What’s the next line?—“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.’Humph! I can answer for the razors. They’re sharp enough to cut the throat of my ugly customer, if he tries any of his tricks.Then:—“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow.’[67]“All right so far. After which I’m to lead him into the reception-hall before Prince Picnic. Just so. Now to set about it.”The barber prepared his razors and lather, and taking the white robe on his arm he went out along the broad corridor towards the garden. Within a small grass plot encircled by tall trees Tom discovered the Gorilla fast asleep. With noiseless footsteps our hero formed a wide ring round the sleeping monster with his fingers, and then stepped within the charmed circle and approached his subject. Strange to relate, the Gorilla never stirred—not even when Tom, with the taste of a genuine artist, began operations upon his capacious chin. Nature seemed hushed while the barber performed his business. Above, below, and around a deep stillness reigned, save for the scraping, grating sound of Tom Brock’s blade.Meanwhile Prince Picnic held a grand council of state in the magnificent reception-hall of his palace. Previously an edict had gone forth which summoned the rank, beauty, and fashion of the land to witness the marriage of Lady Lollypop and Gorilla. And here they were assembled for the imposing event, which should unite the Beauty and the Beast.[68]Ah, me! Who shall attempt to describe the splendour of that gathering? The Ruler of Twilight was seated on a throne of pure gold, which had been oxidized to every shade of colour, and wrought in the most beautiful mosaic imaginable. At her father’s side reclined the Bi-ba-be-bi, receiving the homage of the young nobles and the long-bearded functionaries of state. The walls and ceiling of the throne chamber were entirely covered with wide sheets of burnished gold to reflect as mirrors. On each side of the dais there extended rank upon rank of high-born dames and courtiers robed in stuffs of silk and gold, embroidered with flowers so as to present the most perfect imitations of nature.Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet tones of the choir of fairy musicians, hidden from view—now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody. Down the sides of the lofty pillared hall a bright band of dancing fays, each as lovely as a child’s dream, advanced and retired, crossed and interlaced in a whirling maze of shifting light, which defeated the eye in following their quick and graceful evolutions. Amongst that fair galaxy of beauty, Bi-ba-be-bi stood out peerless in her loveliness. Round the soft cushions on which she reclined were gathered her[69]four handmaids, See-Saw, Hide and Seek, Marjory Daw, and Down-Dilly.Behind the throne stood Ride-a-cock-horse, the prime minister, Gaboon, the jester, and the high officials of the kingdom. At a sign from Baron Thimble the music ceased and the dancers dispersed. Then Prince Picnic rose, and said briefly,—“People of Twilight, I have called you together to witness the marriage of our daughter, the Lady Lollypop. I am aware that this Court had decided that our dear and lamented nephew Prince Pippin should have been her husband; but the gallant youth perished three years ago on those self-same Leap Frog Mountains where I and my retinue were captured by Gorilla. The chief of Gorilla-land is now here to claim the bond I gave him for our release.”A deep hush had fallen o’er the vast crowd as the Prince paused.“Prince Pippin was a handsome youth and a gallant gentleman,” whispered See-Saw.“True, and our lady loved him well,” replied Down-Dilly.The daughter of Prince Picnic heard the whispering, and sighed audibly.“Ay, but the young Prince is dead. Hush!”[70]“Dames and nobles,” continued His Highness mournfully, “we have given our sacred word that this monster shall marry Bi-ba-be-bi. Therefore we cannot depart from that pledge in the smallest particular. What, ho there! Let the bridegroom come forth and claim his bride.”As the Ruler of Twilight uttered the words, every eye was directed towards the great folding doors at the farther end of the audience chamber, which were instantly drawn apart, and Tom Brock entered, leading the tall figure of his patient, muffled from head to feet in the white cloak.Poor Lady Lollypop uttered a stifled shriek of fear as her gaze fell upon the muffled form of her intended lord and master.The barber advanced with his companion to the foot of the throne, and there halted for a moment, then retired behind the throng of courtiers, leaving the closely covered monster standing alone.“Art thou still resolved to have the Pearl of Twilight for thy wife?” asked Ride-a-cock-horse in a loud voice.The mantled figure trembled visibly, but held his peace.“Let the chief of Gorilla-land show himself, if he is not afraid,” cried Gaboon, advancing from out[71]of the ring of nobles by which he was surrounded. Swifter than the electrical fire athwart a thunder-cloud the folding mantle vanished from that form, and revealed—not the hateful beast, but a tall, handsome young man, robed in a superb hunting costume of the country. The gaze of Bi-ba-be-bi had no sooner rested upon him than she sprang from the midst of her ladies with a glad cry of recognition, and cast herself upon his bosom. “Prince Pippin! Cousin! My own dear love, you are not dead!”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”Dead, not at all. Twilight is a region of[72]enchantment, dear readers. Dame Trot, the witch of the Leap Frog Ranges, had fallen across the young Prince while hunting in the mountains, and had changed him into a Gorilla. Such he had remained and had taken his uncle prisoner. When the news, however, of the marriage between Lady Lollypop and the supposed monster reached the old magician she relented of her wickedness by appearing at the bedside of the barber and speaking the words which annulled the charm.There was great rejoicing at the court of Prince Picnic over the event; but the gladness and the display were increased a hundredfold when the cousins were married.Tom Brock, loaded with substantial presents, returned home to his wife and family, and brought a piece of the wedding-cake for the former, which quite dissipated any lurking jealousy there might have been in her mind respecting his absence.The little corner shop knows our friend the barber no more. His residence is now in the aristocratic suburb of Toorak—a magnificent mansion known as “Faydell,” and for which he may thank Bi-ba-be-bi and her royal husband Prince Pippin.[73]

CHAPTER III.LADY LOLLYPOP.

The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—“Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest;If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow;Then lead him forth towards the Throne.Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”Ere the last words were well out of her mouth[66]the old dame vanished like a puff of smoke—when or how Tom Brock had no idea whatever. He rubbed his eyes, and was under the impression that the whole thing was an illusion, until his glance rested upon a square white wrapper lying at the foot of the bed. He sprang up immediately, and found a soft cloak large enough to robe a giant. There was no fancy aboutthat, at any rate. He dressed himself hastily, at the same time attempting to repeat the utterances of his strange visitor:—“ ‘Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest.’Very good,” he muttered quickly; “there may be a charm in these words that I cannot conceive. I have a very dangerous task before me, and I’ll try it. Luckily this is just the time of day to catch Mr. Gorilla asleep. What’s the next line?—“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.’Humph! I can answer for the razors. They’re sharp enough to cut the throat of my ugly customer, if he tries any of his tricks.Then:—“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow.’[67]“All right so far. After which I’m to lead him into the reception-hall before Prince Picnic. Just so. Now to set about it.”The barber prepared his razors and lather, and taking the white robe on his arm he went out along the broad corridor towards the garden. Within a small grass plot encircled by tall trees Tom discovered the Gorilla fast asleep. With noiseless footsteps our hero formed a wide ring round the sleeping monster with his fingers, and then stepped within the charmed circle and approached his subject. Strange to relate, the Gorilla never stirred—not even when Tom, with the taste of a genuine artist, began operations upon his capacious chin. Nature seemed hushed while the barber performed his business. Above, below, and around a deep stillness reigned, save for the scraping, grating sound of Tom Brock’s blade.Meanwhile Prince Picnic held a grand council of state in the magnificent reception-hall of his palace. Previously an edict had gone forth which summoned the rank, beauty, and fashion of the land to witness the marriage of Lady Lollypop and Gorilla. And here they were assembled for the imposing event, which should unite the Beauty and the Beast.[68]Ah, me! Who shall attempt to describe the splendour of that gathering? The Ruler of Twilight was seated on a throne of pure gold, which had been oxidized to every shade of colour, and wrought in the most beautiful mosaic imaginable. At her father’s side reclined the Bi-ba-be-bi, receiving the homage of the young nobles and the long-bearded functionaries of state. The walls and ceiling of the throne chamber were entirely covered with wide sheets of burnished gold to reflect as mirrors. On each side of the dais there extended rank upon rank of high-born dames and courtiers robed in stuffs of silk and gold, embroidered with flowers so as to present the most perfect imitations of nature.Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet tones of the choir of fairy musicians, hidden from view—now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody. Down the sides of the lofty pillared hall a bright band of dancing fays, each as lovely as a child’s dream, advanced and retired, crossed and interlaced in a whirling maze of shifting light, which defeated the eye in following their quick and graceful evolutions. Amongst that fair galaxy of beauty, Bi-ba-be-bi stood out peerless in her loveliness. Round the soft cushions on which she reclined were gathered her[69]four handmaids, See-Saw, Hide and Seek, Marjory Daw, and Down-Dilly.Behind the throne stood Ride-a-cock-horse, the prime minister, Gaboon, the jester, and the high officials of the kingdom. At a sign from Baron Thimble the music ceased and the dancers dispersed. Then Prince Picnic rose, and said briefly,—“People of Twilight, I have called you together to witness the marriage of our daughter, the Lady Lollypop. I am aware that this Court had decided that our dear and lamented nephew Prince Pippin should have been her husband; but the gallant youth perished three years ago on those self-same Leap Frog Mountains where I and my retinue were captured by Gorilla. The chief of Gorilla-land is now here to claim the bond I gave him for our release.”A deep hush had fallen o’er the vast crowd as the Prince paused.“Prince Pippin was a handsome youth and a gallant gentleman,” whispered See-Saw.“True, and our lady loved him well,” replied Down-Dilly.The daughter of Prince Picnic heard the whispering, and sighed audibly.“Ay, but the young Prince is dead. Hush!”[70]“Dames and nobles,” continued His Highness mournfully, “we have given our sacred word that this monster shall marry Bi-ba-be-bi. Therefore we cannot depart from that pledge in the smallest particular. What, ho there! Let the bridegroom come forth and claim his bride.”As the Ruler of Twilight uttered the words, every eye was directed towards the great folding doors at the farther end of the audience chamber, which were instantly drawn apart, and Tom Brock entered, leading the tall figure of his patient, muffled from head to feet in the white cloak.Poor Lady Lollypop uttered a stifled shriek of fear as her gaze fell upon the muffled form of her intended lord and master.The barber advanced with his companion to the foot of the throne, and there halted for a moment, then retired behind the throng of courtiers, leaving the closely covered monster standing alone.“Art thou still resolved to have the Pearl of Twilight for thy wife?” asked Ride-a-cock-horse in a loud voice.The mantled figure trembled visibly, but held his peace.“Let the chief of Gorilla-land show himself, if he is not afraid,” cried Gaboon, advancing from out[71]of the ring of nobles by which he was surrounded. Swifter than the electrical fire athwart a thunder-cloud the folding mantle vanished from that form, and revealed—not the hateful beast, but a tall, handsome young man, robed in a superb hunting costume of the country. The gaze of Bi-ba-be-bi had no sooner rested upon him than she sprang from the midst of her ladies with a glad cry of recognition, and cast herself upon his bosom. “Prince Pippin! Cousin! My own dear love, you are not dead!”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”Dead, not at all. Twilight is a region of[72]enchantment, dear readers. Dame Trot, the witch of the Leap Frog Ranges, had fallen across the young Prince while hunting in the mountains, and had changed him into a Gorilla. Such he had remained and had taken his uncle prisoner. When the news, however, of the marriage between Lady Lollypop and the supposed monster reached the old magician she relented of her wickedness by appearing at the bedside of the barber and speaking the words which annulled the charm.There was great rejoicing at the court of Prince Picnic over the event; but the gladness and the display were increased a hundredfold when the cousins were married.Tom Brock, loaded with substantial presents, returned home to his wife and family, and brought a piece of the wedding-cake for the former, which quite dissipated any lurking jealousy there might have been in her mind respecting his absence.The little corner shop knows our friend the barber no more. His residence is now in the aristocratic suburb of Toorak—a magnificent mansion known as “Faydell,” and for which he may thank Bi-ba-be-bi and her royal husband Prince Pippin.[73]

The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—

“Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest;If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow;Then lead him forth towards the Throne.Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”

“Draw a circle round the beast

When he sleeps in peaceful rest;

If strong thy arm and keen thy blade

So thy task is easy made.

Shave the monster, head and toe,

Round him fold this robe of snow;

Then lead him forth towards the Throne.

Fe-fi-fum, my charm is done.”

Ere the last words were well out of her mouth[66]the old dame vanished like a puff of smoke—when or how Tom Brock had no idea whatever. He rubbed his eyes, and was under the impression that the whole thing was an illusion, until his glance rested upon a square white wrapper lying at the foot of the bed. He sprang up immediately, and found a soft cloak large enough to robe a giant. There was no fancy aboutthat, at any rate. He dressed himself hastily, at the same time attempting to repeat the utterances of his strange visitor:—

“ ‘Draw a circle round the beastWhen he sleeps in peaceful rest.’

“ ‘Draw a circle round the beast

When he sleeps in peaceful rest.’

Very good,” he muttered quickly; “there may be a charm in these words that I cannot conceive. I have a very dangerous task before me, and I’ll try it. Luckily this is just the time of day to catch Mr. Gorilla asleep. What’s the next line?—

“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy bladeSo thy task is easy made.’

“ ‘If strong thy arm and keen thy blade

So thy task is easy made.’

Humph! I can answer for the razors. They’re sharp enough to cut the throat of my ugly customer, if he tries any of his tricks.Then:—

“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,Round him fold this robe of snow.’

“ ‘Shave the monster, head and toe,

Round him fold this robe of snow.’

[67]

“All right so far. After which I’m to lead him into the reception-hall before Prince Picnic. Just so. Now to set about it.”

The barber prepared his razors and lather, and taking the white robe on his arm he went out along the broad corridor towards the garden. Within a small grass plot encircled by tall trees Tom discovered the Gorilla fast asleep. With noiseless footsteps our hero formed a wide ring round the sleeping monster with his fingers, and then stepped within the charmed circle and approached his subject. Strange to relate, the Gorilla never stirred—not even when Tom, with the taste of a genuine artist, began operations upon his capacious chin. Nature seemed hushed while the barber performed his business. Above, below, and around a deep stillness reigned, save for the scraping, grating sound of Tom Brock’s blade.

Meanwhile Prince Picnic held a grand council of state in the magnificent reception-hall of his palace. Previously an edict had gone forth which summoned the rank, beauty, and fashion of the land to witness the marriage of Lady Lollypop and Gorilla. And here they were assembled for the imposing event, which should unite the Beauty and the Beast.[68]

Ah, me! Who shall attempt to describe the splendour of that gathering? The Ruler of Twilight was seated on a throne of pure gold, which had been oxidized to every shade of colour, and wrought in the most beautiful mosaic imaginable. At her father’s side reclined the Bi-ba-be-bi, receiving the homage of the young nobles and the long-bearded functionaries of state. The walls and ceiling of the throne chamber were entirely covered with wide sheets of burnished gold to reflect as mirrors. On each side of the dais there extended rank upon rank of high-born dames and courtiers robed in stuffs of silk and gold, embroidered with flowers so as to present the most perfect imitations of nature.

Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet tones of the choir of fairy musicians, hidden from view—now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody. Down the sides of the lofty pillared hall a bright band of dancing fays, each as lovely as a child’s dream, advanced and retired, crossed and interlaced in a whirling maze of shifting light, which defeated the eye in following their quick and graceful evolutions. Amongst that fair galaxy of beauty, Bi-ba-be-bi stood out peerless in her loveliness. Round the soft cushions on which she reclined were gathered her[69]four handmaids, See-Saw, Hide and Seek, Marjory Daw, and Down-Dilly.

Behind the throne stood Ride-a-cock-horse, the prime minister, Gaboon, the jester, and the high officials of the kingdom. At a sign from Baron Thimble the music ceased and the dancers dispersed. Then Prince Picnic rose, and said briefly,—

“People of Twilight, I have called you together to witness the marriage of our daughter, the Lady Lollypop. I am aware that this Court had decided that our dear and lamented nephew Prince Pippin should have been her husband; but the gallant youth perished three years ago on those self-same Leap Frog Mountains where I and my retinue were captured by Gorilla. The chief of Gorilla-land is now here to claim the bond I gave him for our release.”

A deep hush had fallen o’er the vast crowd as the Prince paused.

“Prince Pippin was a handsome youth and a gallant gentleman,” whispered See-Saw.

“True, and our lady loved him well,” replied Down-Dilly.

The daughter of Prince Picnic heard the whispering, and sighed audibly.

“Ay, but the young Prince is dead. Hush!”[70]

“Dames and nobles,” continued His Highness mournfully, “we have given our sacred word that this monster shall marry Bi-ba-be-bi. Therefore we cannot depart from that pledge in the smallest particular. What, ho there! Let the bridegroom come forth and claim his bride.”

As the Ruler of Twilight uttered the words, every eye was directed towards the great folding doors at the farther end of the audience chamber, which were instantly drawn apart, and Tom Brock entered, leading the tall figure of his patient, muffled from head to feet in the white cloak.

Poor Lady Lollypop uttered a stifled shriek of fear as her gaze fell upon the muffled form of her intended lord and master.

The barber advanced with his companion to the foot of the throne, and there halted for a moment, then retired behind the throng of courtiers, leaving the closely covered monster standing alone.

“Art thou still resolved to have the Pearl of Twilight for thy wife?” asked Ride-a-cock-horse in a loud voice.

The mantled figure trembled visibly, but held his peace.

“Let the chief of Gorilla-land show himself, if he is not afraid,” cried Gaboon, advancing from out[71]of the ring of nobles by which he was surrounded. Swifter than the electrical fire athwart a thunder-cloud the folding mantle vanished from that form, and revealed—not the hateful beast, but a tall, handsome young man, robed in a superb hunting costume of the country. The gaze of Bi-ba-be-bi had no sooner rested upon him than she sprang from the midst of her ladies with a glad cry of recognition, and cast herself upon his bosom. “Prince Pippin! Cousin! My own dear love, you are not dead!”

“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”

“A TALL, HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, ROBED IN A SUPERB HUNTING COSTUME.”

Dead, not at all. Twilight is a region of[72]enchantment, dear readers. Dame Trot, the witch of the Leap Frog Ranges, had fallen across the young Prince while hunting in the mountains, and had changed him into a Gorilla. Such he had remained and had taken his uncle prisoner. When the news, however, of the marriage between Lady Lollypop and the supposed monster reached the old magician she relented of her wickedness by appearing at the bedside of the barber and speaking the words which annulled the charm.

There was great rejoicing at the court of Prince Picnic over the event; but the gladness and the display were increased a hundredfold when the cousins were married.

Tom Brock, loaded with substantial presents, returned home to his wife and family, and brought a piece of the wedding-cake for the former, which quite dissipated any lurking jealousy there might have been in her mind respecting his absence.

The little corner shop knows our friend the barber no more. His residence is now in the aristocratic suburb of Toorak—a magnificent mansion known as “Faydell,” and for which he may thank Bi-ba-be-bi and her royal husband Prince Pippin.[73]

[Contents]TIM.The sinking sun cast a soft amber-tinted radiance over the little township of Wentworth, New South Wales, as a little boy, weary and footsore with travel, knocked at a farmer’s door about two miles beyond the settlement.A kind, motherly woman who answered the knock stared with astonishment at the juvenile tramp, who blurted out in a faint voice, “If you please, ma’am, will you give me a drink of water? I’m so hungry, I really don’t know where I shall sleep to-night.”The good lady laughed heartily at the little fellow’s quaint request. She took him into the house, and led him into a back room, where a great fat man was seated at tea.“Who is this, wife?” said he in a surly tone, looking at our hero.“Only a poor boy begging some food, Mark; that’s all,” answered his wife meekly.[74]“I didn’t beg, ma’am, please,” said the boy quickly.“Oh, you didn’t beg?” rejoined the farmer in the same gruff voice. “Git down on that stool now.”“I came a very long way, sir, and I——” began the boy.“Silence! Wife, take his bundle; pull off his old shoes; let him be washed; then give him his tea.” The voice lost nothing of its coarse disagreeable ring as it gave the curt order, but the man’s eyes looked kindly at the little wanderer.“What is your name?” still gruffly.“Tim, sir, please.”“Timwhat? Hav’n’t you another name?”“No, sir. Nuggety Joe never called me anything else than Tim.”“And who is Nuggety Joe?” asked the farmer.The boy played nervously with the edge of his tattered jacket for a moment, and then replied in a voice broken and unsteady with emotion, “Please, sir, father and Joe were mates on the diggings at Forbes. When the great dam broke and flooded the creek, and drowned father, mother, and little sister Jessie, Joe took care of me, and was a father to me—he was—until[75]he took the fever, and died, and then I——” The child’s quavering voice gave way to a fit of bitter wailing.“Stop that!” cried the farmer, putting his handkerchief to his nose, and making that organ sound like a French horn—“stop it at once. I’ll have no snivelling here.”But poor Tim sobbed on; and notwithstanding all the womanly sympathy of the farmer’s wife, she could not stay the torrent. Not yet in his “teens,” the brave lad walked over two hundred miles, suffering hunger and pain with the courage of a Spartan; but he had no courage to put back the tears that swelled upwards at the remembrance of that rude, unlettered, dead digger, who had loved him, and had taken him to his bosom for Christ’s sake, and who had now gone to receive his reward.All things have an end, so the fountain of Tim’s eyes became dry again ere the tea was over. Before the lad was sent to bed, the farmer said, “Look here, boy, I think I can give you something to do on my farm. Mind, I’ll set you a task the first thing in the morning; if you perform it to my satisfaction, and you likewise prove yourself an honest, trustworthy youngster, why, you shall never want a home or a friend[76]while Mark Wilson lives. Now, wife, put him to bed.”The good dame led Tim to a small attic bedroom, which contained, amongst other things, a beautiful parrot in a stout wire cage.“Cockie” had evidently been enjoying a nap, for he shook himself at sight of the intruders, and sent forth from his bill a volley of strange sounds, in true imitation of a person just aroused from slumber. Mrs. Wilson kissed our hero and retired, but she had hardly closed the door before the bird began to flap his wings and crow like a rooster.“A funny parrot,” muttered Tim. “I wonder if it can talk?”“Of course it can,” answered Cockie, eyeing him through the bars of the cage. The lad rubbed his eyes, and stared at the bird in the cage for fully three minutes without speaking a word, so great was his consternation. “Don’t stare, Tim; it’s very rude to stare,” continued the bird gravely. “People in this colony have a bad habit of staring you out of countenance, I am sorry to say.”“Why, you can talk like a man,” cried the boy in his astonishment.“Certainly; much better than some men, I[77]trust. Pray come here and scratch me, Tim,” cried the parrot coaxingly.Little Tim obeyed very cautiously, and in fear and trembling.“That is delightful,” said Cockie.“It’s wonderful,” muttered poor Tim.“What is wonderful, sir? Can’t parrots talk?”“Some of them can, but not like you.”“Oh! but I’m not a parrot, I’m a fairy.”“A fairy?” cried the boy, agape with wonder. “Are you really?”“Truly I am. One of the Lake George fairies. Xanthine, our Queen, turned me into a parrot, five years ago, through her foolish jealousy, and here I’ve been caged up ever since with this great beak upon my face, which quite disfigures me.”“What a shame! Can’t you get back again to your friend at Lake George?” cried the boy.“Yes, for Queen Xanthine is dead, and I can now return in safety, if you will help me,” replied the bird.“Me! how can I help you?” answered little Tim.“I will tell you” rejoined the elfin. “You must know, boy, that every one of us could help each other if we would. The rich can help the poor, and the poor the wealthy; yea, even the smallest[78]can render assistance to the strong and powerful, as was the case with the lion and the mouse. Now, I can prove how I can render you a service. Judge. Didn’t the master say he would set you a task in the morning?”“He did,” replied Tim in wonder.“Very well. The task is to milk a bad-tempered, touchy old cow called ‘Peggy.’ The beast, who is a splendid milker, is the torment and plague of the farmer’s life. She has kicked him until he is afraid to approach her, and every one, man, woman, and boy, who attempts to milk Peggy is sure to be upset. It has proved useless to tie her by the leg and the tail—the wicked rogue would find a way of defeating her enemies before the milking was ended.”“Are you sure that I shall have to try to milk Peggy in the morning?” inquired Tim.“Quite certain,” replied the elfin.“Then I—I think I had better go away now, at once, before the morning, don’t you?” said the lad ruefully.“No, I don’t, because I can tell you how to overcome the antics of this refractory cow.”“How?”“I will tell you upon one condition,” replied the fairy parrot, rubbing its beak reflectively.[79]“What condition?” asked Tim.“That you set me free as soon as you have completed your task to-morrow.”“It’s a bargain,” replied little Tim readily. “I can easily get the farmer another parrot—a real bird, you know—and then there will be no harm done.”“Very good. Now listen. On the gable of this house there grows a creeper with a pale blue flower. In the morning, when they call you, go and gather a small wreath of this plant, and when the wicked cow is bailed up ready for milking, place the vine around her horns, and you may take the word of an Australian fairy that Peggy will stand as quiet as a mouse until you have drained her teats as dry as a corn cob.”“Lor! how simple!” replied Tim.“All knowledge is simple, boy, when you once acquire it. You’ll not forget my instructions?”“No, I thank you. I shall remember.”“Kiss Cockie, then, say your prayers like a good boy, and go to bed. Good-night.”Tim wished to ask the fairy bird a hundred questions, but after it had said good-night it would not utter another word, so the boy went to bed and fell asleep.The sun was up before him in the morning.[80]Yet Tim managed to get down into the garden and cut a slender tendril from the creeper, which he formed into a small hoop, just as the farmer’s voice was heard calling him.Twenty cows had to be milked every morning at the farm, and Tim heard a great deal of shouting and bellowing, and clanking of milk-cans, which proceeded from a yard at hand, enclosed with a high fence and into which the cattle had been driven.The farmer led our hero into the enclosure, and pointing to where the ill-tempered short-horn stood, with her head in the bail, said briefly, “Sit down and milk that cow.”The boy went up to Peggy, who gave a loud bellow at sight of him. He placed the vine around her horns, then sat down to his task. Mark Wilson stood ready to pick the boy up in case the cow knocked him over; but the beast never moved until the boy had drawn every drop of milk from her teats. The good farmer was filled with amazement, and cried out, “Twenty-five boys and ten men have all tried to milk Peggy, and not one of them has succeeded but you. Therefore, from this moment, I will adopt you as my son, Tim, and you shall marry my little girl Amy, by-and-by, and I will leave you the[81]farm as a wedding present.” And the farmer kept his word.When Tim went upstairs to set the parrot free, he found the bird transformed into a beautiful wee lady, whom he politely lifted out of the cage. She thanked him, and made him a graceful curtsey as she vanished out of the window.[82]

TIM.

The sinking sun cast a soft amber-tinted radiance over the little township of Wentworth, New South Wales, as a little boy, weary and footsore with travel, knocked at a farmer’s door about two miles beyond the settlement.A kind, motherly woman who answered the knock stared with astonishment at the juvenile tramp, who blurted out in a faint voice, “If you please, ma’am, will you give me a drink of water? I’m so hungry, I really don’t know where I shall sleep to-night.”The good lady laughed heartily at the little fellow’s quaint request. She took him into the house, and led him into a back room, where a great fat man was seated at tea.“Who is this, wife?” said he in a surly tone, looking at our hero.“Only a poor boy begging some food, Mark; that’s all,” answered his wife meekly.[74]“I didn’t beg, ma’am, please,” said the boy quickly.“Oh, you didn’t beg?” rejoined the farmer in the same gruff voice. “Git down on that stool now.”“I came a very long way, sir, and I——” began the boy.“Silence! Wife, take his bundle; pull off his old shoes; let him be washed; then give him his tea.” The voice lost nothing of its coarse disagreeable ring as it gave the curt order, but the man’s eyes looked kindly at the little wanderer.“What is your name?” still gruffly.“Tim, sir, please.”“Timwhat? Hav’n’t you another name?”“No, sir. Nuggety Joe never called me anything else than Tim.”“And who is Nuggety Joe?” asked the farmer.The boy played nervously with the edge of his tattered jacket for a moment, and then replied in a voice broken and unsteady with emotion, “Please, sir, father and Joe were mates on the diggings at Forbes. When the great dam broke and flooded the creek, and drowned father, mother, and little sister Jessie, Joe took care of me, and was a father to me—he was—until[75]he took the fever, and died, and then I——” The child’s quavering voice gave way to a fit of bitter wailing.“Stop that!” cried the farmer, putting his handkerchief to his nose, and making that organ sound like a French horn—“stop it at once. I’ll have no snivelling here.”But poor Tim sobbed on; and notwithstanding all the womanly sympathy of the farmer’s wife, she could not stay the torrent. Not yet in his “teens,” the brave lad walked over two hundred miles, suffering hunger and pain with the courage of a Spartan; but he had no courage to put back the tears that swelled upwards at the remembrance of that rude, unlettered, dead digger, who had loved him, and had taken him to his bosom for Christ’s sake, and who had now gone to receive his reward.All things have an end, so the fountain of Tim’s eyes became dry again ere the tea was over. Before the lad was sent to bed, the farmer said, “Look here, boy, I think I can give you something to do on my farm. Mind, I’ll set you a task the first thing in the morning; if you perform it to my satisfaction, and you likewise prove yourself an honest, trustworthy youngster, why, you shall never want a home or a friend[76]while Mark Wilson lives. Now, wife, put him to bed.”The good dame led Tim to a small attic bedroom, which contained, amongst other things, a beautiful parrot in a stout wire cage.“Cockie” had evidently been enjoying a nap, for he shook himself at sight of the intruders, and sent forth from his bill a volley of strange sounds, in true imitation of a person just aroused from slumber. Mrs. Wilson kissed our hero and retired, but she had hardly closed the door before the bird began to flap his wings and crow like a rooster.“A funny parrot,” muttered Tim. “I wonder if it can talk?”“Of course it can,” answered Cockie, eyeing him through the bars of the cage. The lad rubbed his eyes, and stared at the bird in the cage for fully three minutes without speaking a word, so great was his consternation. “Don’t stare, Tim; it’s very rude to stare,” continued the bird gravely. “People in this colony have a bad habit of staring you out of countenance, I am sorry to say.”“Why, you can talk like a man,” cried the boy in his astonishment.“Certainly; much better than some men, I[77]trust. Pray come here and scratch me, Tim,” cried the parrot coaxingly.Little Tim obeyed very cautiously, and in fear and trembling.“That is delightful,” said Cockie.“It’s wonderful,” muttered poor Tim.“What is wonderful, sir? Can’t parrots talk?”“Some of them can, but not like you.”“Oh! but I’m not a parrot, I’m a fairy.”“A fairy?” cried the boy, agape with wonder. “Are you really?”“Truly I am. One of the Lake George fairies. Xanthine, our Queen, turned me into a parrot, five years ago, through her foolish jealousy, and here I’ve been caged up ever since with this great beak upon my face, which quite disfigures me.”“What a shame! Can’t you get back again to your friend at Lake George?” cried the boy.“Yes, for Queen Xanthine is dead, and I can now return in safety, if you will help me,” replied the bird.“Me! how can I help you?” answered little Tim.“I will tell you” rejoined the elfin. “You must know, boy, that every one of us could help each other if we would. The rich can help the poor, and the poor the wealthy; yea, even the smallest[78]can render assistance to the strong and powerful, as was the case with the lion and the mouse. Now, I can prove how I can render you a service. Judge. Didn’t the master say he would set you a task in the morning?”“He did,” replied Tim in wonder.“Very well. The task is to milk a bad-tempered, touchy old cow called ‘Peggy.’ The beast, who is a splendid milker, is the torment and plague of the farmer’s life. She has kicked him until he is afraid to approach her, and every one, man, woman, and boy, who attempts to milk Peggy is sure to be upset. It has proved useless to tie her by the leg and the tail—the wicked rogue would find a way of defeating her enemies before the milking was ended.”“Are you sure that I shall have to try to milk Peggy in the morning?” inquired Tim.“Quite certain,” replied the elfin.“Then I—I think I had better go away now, at once, before the morning, don’t you?” said the lad ruefully.“No, I don’t, because I can tell you how to overcome the antics of this refractory cow.”“How?”“I will tell you upon one condition,” replied the fairy parrot, rubbing its beak reflectively.[79]“What condition?” asked Tim.“That you set me free as soon as you have completed your task to-morrow.”“It’s a bargain,” replied little Tim readily. “I can easily get the farmer another parrot—a real bird, you know—and then there will be no harm done.”“Very good. Now listen. On the gable of this house there grows a creeper with a pale blue flower. In the morning, when they call you, go and gather a small wreath of this plant, and when the wicked cow is bailed up ready for milking, place the vine around her horns, and you may take the word of an Australian fairy that Peggy will stand as quiet as a mouse until you have drained her teats as dry as a corn cob.”“Lor! how simple!” replied Tim.“All knowledge is simple, boy, when you once acquire it. You’ll not forget my instructions?”“No, I thank you. I shall remember.”“Kiss Cockie, then, say your prayers like a good boy, and go to bed. Good-night.”Tim wished to ask the fairy bird a hundred questions, but after it had said good-night it would not utter another word, so the boy went to bed and fell asleep.The sun was up before him in the morning.[80]Yet Tim managed to get down into the garden and cut a slender tendril from the creeper, which he formed into a small hoop, just as the farmer’s voice was heard calling him.Twenty cows had to be milked every morning at the farm, and Tim heard a great deal of shouting and bellowing, and clanking of milk-cans, which proceeded from a yard at hand, enclosed with a high fence and into which the cattle had been driven.The farmer led our hero into the enclosure, and pointing to where the ill-tempered short-horn stood, with her head in the bail, said briefly, “Sit down and milk that cow.”The boy went up to Peggy, who gave a loud bellow at sight of him. He placed the vine around her horns, then sat down to his task. Mark Wilson stood ready to pick the boy up in case the cow knocked him over; but the beast never moved until the boy had drawn every drop of milk from her teats. The good farmer was filled with amazement, and cried out, “Twenty-five boys and ten men have all tried to milk Peggy, and not one of them has succeeded but you. Therefore, from this moment, I will adopt you as my son, Tim, and you shall marry my little girl Amy, by-and-by, and I will leave you the[81]farm as a wedding present.” And the farmer kept his word.When Tim went upstairs to set the parrot free, he found the bird transformed into a beautiful wee lady, whom he politely lifted out of the cage. She thanked him, and made him a graceful curtsey as she vanished out of the window.[82]

The sinking sun cast a soft amber-tinted radiance over the little township of Wentworth, New South Wales, as a little boy, weary and footsore with travel, knocked at a farmer’s door about two miles beyond the settlement.

A kind, motherly woman who answered the knock stared with astonishment at the juvenile tramp, who blurted out in a faint voice, “If you please, ma’am, will you give me a drink of water? I’m so hungry, I really don’t know where I shall sleep to-night.”

The good lady laughed heartily at the little fellow’s quaint request. She took him into the house, and led him into a back room, where a great fat man was seated at tea.

“Who is this, wife?” said he in a surly tone, looking at our hero.

“Only a poor boy begging some food, Mark; that’s all,” answered his wife meekly.[74]

“I didn’t beg, ma’am, please,” said the boy quickly.

“Oh, you didn’t beg?” rejoined the farmer in the same gruff voice. “Git down on that stool now.”

“I came a very long way, sir, and I——” began the boy.

“Silence! Wife, take his bundle; pull off his old shoes; let him be washed; then give him his tea.” The voice lost nothing of its coarse disagreeable ring as it gave the curt order, but the man’s eyes looked kindly at the little wanderer.“What is your name?” still gruffly.

“Tim, sir, please.”

“Timwhat? Hav’n’t you another name?”

“No, sir. Nuggety Joe never called me anything else than Tim.”

“And who is Nuggety Joe?” asked the farmer.

The boy played nervously with the edge of his tattered jacket for a moment, and then replied in a voice broken and unsteady with emotion, “Please, sir, father and Joe were mates on the diggings at Forbes. When the great dam broke and flooded the creek, and drowned father, mother, and little sister Jessie, Joe took care of me, and was a father to me—he was—until[75]he took the fever, and died, and then I——” The child’s quavering voice gave way to a fit of bitter wailing.

“Stop that!” cried the farmer, putting his handkerchief to his nose, and making that organ sound like a French horn—“stop it at once. I’ll have no snivelling here.”

But poor Tim sobbed on; and notwithstanding all the womanly sympathy of the farmer’s wife, she could not stay the torrent. Not yet in his “teens,” the brave lad walked over two hundred miles, suffering hunger and pain with the courage of a Spartan; but he had no courage to put back the tears that swelled upwards at the remembrance of that rude, unlettered, dead digger, who had loved him, and had taken him to his bosom for Christ’s sake, and who had now gone to receive his reward.

All things have an end, so the fountain of Tim’s eyes became dry again ere the tea was over. Before the lad was sent to bed, the farmer said, “Look here, boy, I think I can give you something to do on my farm. Mind, I’ll set you a task the first thing in the morning; if you perform it to my satisfaction, and you likewise prove yourself an honest, trustworthy youngster, why, you shall never want a home or a friend[76]while Mark Wilson lives. Now, wife, put him to bed.”

The good dame led Tim to a small attic bedroom, which contained, amongst other things, a beautiful parrot in a stout wire cage.

“Cockie” had evidently been enjoying a nap, for he shook himself at sight of the intruders, and sent forth from his bill a volley of strange sounds, in true imitation of a person just aroused from slumber. Mrs. Wilson kissed our hero and retired, but she had hardly closed the door before the bird began to flap his wings and crow like a rooster.

“A funny parrot,” muttered Tim. “I wonder if it can talk?”

“Of course it can,” answered Cockie, eyeing him through the bars of the cage. The lad rubbed his eyes, and stared at the bird in the cage for fully three minutes without speaking a word, so great was his consternation. “Don’t stare, Tim; it’s very rude to stare,” continued the bird gravely. “People in this colony have a bad habit of staring you out of countenance, I am sorry to say.”

“Why, you can talk like a man,” cried the boy in his astonishment.

“Certainly; much better than some men, I[77]trust. Pray come here and scratch me, Tim,” cried the parrot coaxingly.

Little Tim obeyed very cautiously, and in fear and trembling.

“That is delightful,” said Cockie.

“It’s wonderful,” muttered poor Tim.

“What is wonderful, sir? Can’t parrots talk?”

“Some of them can, but not like you.”

“Oh! but I’m not a parrot, I’m a fairy.”

“A fairy?” cried the boy, agape with wonder. “Are you really?”

“Truly I am. One of the Lake George fairies. Xanthine, our Queen, turned me into a parrot, five years ago, through her foolish jealousy, and here I’ve been caged up ever since with this great beak upon my face, which quite disfigures me.”

“What a shame! Can’t you get back again to your friend at Lake George?” cried the boy.

“Yes, for Queen Xanthine is dead, and I can now return in safety, if you will help me,” replied the bird.

“Me! how can I help you?” answered little Tim.

“I will tell you” rejoined the elfin. “You must know, boy, that every one of us could help each other if we would. The rich can help the poor, and the poor the wealthy; yea, even the smallest[78]can render assistance to the strong and powerful, as was the case with the lion and the mouse. Now, I can prove how I can render you a service. Judge. Didn’t the master say he would set you a task in the morning?”

“He did,” replied Tim in wonder.

“Very well. The task is to milk a bad-tempered, touchy old cow called ‘Peggy.’ The beast, who is a splendid milker, is the torment and plague of the farmer’s life. She has kicked him until he is afraid to approach her, and every one, man, woman, and boy, who attempts to milk Peggy is sure to be upset. It has proved useless to tie her by the leg and the tail—the wicked rogue would find a way of defeating her enemies before the milking was ended.”

“Are you sure that I shall have to try to milk Peggy in the morning?” inquired Tim.

“Quite certain,” replied the elfin.

“Then I—I think I had better go away now, at once, before the morning, don’t you?” said the lad ruefully.

“No, I don’t, because I can tell you how to overcome the antics of this refractory cow.”

“How?”

“I will tell you upon one condition,” replied the fairy parrot, rubbing its beak reflectively.[79]

“What condition?” asked Tim.

“That you set me free as soon as you have completed your task to-morrow.”

“It’s a bargain,” replied little Tim readily. “I can easily get the farmer another parrot—a real bird, you know—and then there will be no harm done.”

“Very good. Now listen. On the gable of this house there grows a creeper with a pale blue flower. In the morning, when they call you, go and gather a small wreath of this plant, and when the wicked cow is bailed up ready for milking, place the vine around her horns, and you may take the word of an Australian fairy that Peggy will stand as quiet as a mouse until you have drained her teats as dry as a corn cob.”

“Lor! how simple!” replied Tim.

“All knowledge is simple, boy, when you once acquire it. You’ll not forget my instructions?”

“No, I thank you. I shall remember.”

“Kiss Cockie, then, say your prayers like a good boy, and go to bed. Good-night.”

Tim wished to ask the fairy bird a hundred questions, but after it had said good-night it would not utter another word, so the boy went to bed and fell asleep.

The sun was up before him in the morning.[80]Yet Tim managed to get down into the garden and cut a slender tendril from the creeper, which he formed into a small hoop, just as the farmer’s voice was heard calling him.

Twenty cows had to be milked every morning at the farm, and Tim heard a great deal of shouting and bellowing, and clanking of milk-cans, which proceeded from a yard at hand, enclosed with a high fence and into which the cattle had been driven.

The farmer led our hero into the enclosure, and pointing to where the ill-tempered short-horn stood, with her head in the bail, said briefly, “Sit down and milk that cow.”

The boy went up to Peggy, who gave a loud bellow at sight of him. He placed the vine around her horns, then sat down to his task. Mark Wilson stood ready to pick the boy up in case the cow knocked him over; but the beast never moved until the boy had drawn every drop of milk from her teats. The good farmer was filled with amazement, and cried out, “Twenty-five boys and ten men have all tried to milk Peggy, and not one of them has succeeded but you. Therefore, from this moment, I will adopt you as my son, Tim, and you shall marry my little girl Amy, by-and-by, and I will leave you the[81]farm as a wedding present.” And the farmer kept his word.

When Tim went upstairs to set the parrot free, he found the bird transformed into a beautiful wee lady, whom he politely lifted out of the cage. She thanked him, and made him a graceful curtsey as she vanished out of the window.[82]

[Contents]THREE SPARROWS.Toby Grumbleton worked with his uncle down in one of the deepest mines in Ballarat. If you had searched the whole district in that gold hunting region, you couldn’t have found a more selfish, lazy, and disobedient boy than Toby. In consequence of his surly and complaining disposition his companions had bestowed upon him the nickname of “Toby the Growler,” and he well deserved the title; for a greater snivelling, discontented youth never existed.“‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’”“ ‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’ ”One day, while at work in the mine, Toby was ordered to gather together all the blunt tools and send them up to the surface to be sharpened. As usual, Toby began to grumble, whereupon his uncle gave him a good thrashing, and the “Growler” ran off into one of the usual drives or passages of the mine to indulge in a sulking fit. Of the many dark and wide caverns underground, none in the whole pit was so large and so gloomy and dismal as the one in which “Toby[83]the Growler” had taken refuge, yet the boy had not been there long before he became aware of a strange yellow-coloured glow lighting up the drive. Looking up, he beheld a little old dwarf, with a lamp in his hand, standing over him. Such a plain, ugly-looking creature Toby had never seen before, though there are any number of queer-looking fellows at Ballarat. The intruder was small, not nearly so tall as Toby, but his head was a rasper, and appeared as if it had[84]belonged to several ancient individuals in succession, the eyes very red, and omitting a fiery glow. He was attired in a suit of brown russet, with a long sugar-loaf hat, and a crutch staff.“Get up, Toby the Growler, and follow me,” cried the dwarf in a brief tone, and looking at him with those horrid eyes. Toby felt inclined to disobey, but his heart sank within him at sight of the creature, and he therefore followed, grumbling as he went, and wondering where the ugly little humpback would lead him. Of one thing the boy was certain—that the end of the subterranean passage would effectually bar the progress of the unwelcome visitor; but the dim cave seemed to extend and open out before them as they proceeded, until it took the shape of a long railway tunnel, from which they at length emerged into the bright open sunlight, beaming down upon a landscape fairer than a child’s dream. The sudden transit from what appeared to be the bowels of a great high mountain to the noonday light almost blinded our friend Toby; but the dwarf touched him with his staff, and lo! the boy beheld a charming country teeming with life and beauty. Here were soft grassy spots, shaded by trees bending with ripe and golden-hued fruit; yonder a range of hills clothed with richest verdure, and[85]at the feet of which a broad lake gleamed like a burnished shield. There were swans on the lake, and birds of bright plumage on the trees and in the air, and birds everywhere around.“What place is this, sir?” cried Toby in amazement.“This is the land of the three sparrows,” answered the dwarf with a smile. “Look there; that little white building is the home of ‘Test,’ the eldest of the three; yonder by the water is the palace of ‘Try,’ while on the hills over there you can see the castle of ‘Cure,’ the youngest.”“Are they real sparrows, sir?” asked Toby.“No, boy, only in form. They are Australian elves. Every twenty years the great body of elfins in this country transform three of their number into the shape of sparrows, to govern this land, and also for other purposes, of which you may judge for yourself.” Saying which, the dwarf caught the Growler in his arms, and in an instant they were standing by the white palace on the lake. All the windows and doors were wide open, so the dwarf entered with his companion and conducted him to a large room where Test sat perched on the back of an armchair. He seemed a well-feathered, plump old bird and wore spectacles.[86]“Ah, Grip, my trusty messenger,” he cried, “I see you have returned with the Growler; take him hence and test him in the usual way.”“Very well, your Excellency,” and the dwarf bent low in obeisance and retired. He led Toby away into a large empty hall, and standing him up beside the door, said, “Toby, Toby, shut your eyes and see what Fate will send you.” The Growler closed his eyes, when the voice of the dwarf was again heard. “Toby, Toby, open your eyes and see what Fatehassent you.”The boy opened his eyes and beheld the most magnificent apartment it is possible to conceive. Tables with marble tops, inlaid with gold, were loaded with choice fruits and lollies, and by some enchantment the boy’s ragged clothes were changed to a gorgeous suit of crimson velvet, bordered with pearls, and several servants stood at hand ready to do his bidding.“Ah, this is as it should be!” cried the delighted Toby. “I shall never grumble again if I am to live like this. Here are guns to shoot with; dogs to hunt with; horses to ride, and plenty of fishing in the lake. Ah! I shall be thoroughly satisfied now.” And the Growler set about enjoying himself.But alas! for human resolves. The fruit made[87]Toby ill; one of the horses threw him and hurt his leg; he nearly shot himself with his gun; and was all but drowned in the lake while fishing; and so he began to complain worse than before. But the moment he did so, the splendid scene vanished from before him in the twinkling of an eye, and he discovered himself in the bare and empty room again, with only his dirty rags, and the dwarf standing grinning beside him.“Come along with me, Toby the Growler,” cried the old fellow in a mocking tone; and before the boy could refuse he was borne away to the palace of Try. This old and venerable sparrow was deep in the pages of theObserverwhen Grip entered with Toby.“Whom have we here?” he inquired, addressing the dwarf.“Please, your Worship, this is a mortal who has been tested by your Worship’s brother, and has failed,” answered Grip.“What is his special defect?”“Grumbling, your Worship.”“Humph! a common quality among mortals, more especially with farmers and boys. Try him without delay.”With the quickness of a shifting scene in a[88]magic-lantern Toby was transferred to a cottage in a lonely valley, occupied by an old lady and gentleman, who welcomed him as if he had been their own son, and procured for him all that he could desire. The whole day was one round of pleasure and enjoyment, and the boy expressed himself grateful and satisfied with his position. One simple act he had to perform in return for all this kindness, and that was to draw seven buckets of water from a well every morning, for the use of the cottage. Yet Toby the Growler, unmindful of past experience, began to grumble again, and once more he found himself by the lake with the dwarf at his elbow.“For the last time, come with me, Toby the Growler,” he cried in a terrible voice, while his red flaming eyes shot out flashes like fire. The boy felt utterly powerless to resist, and swift as a streak of lightning he was carried to the gloomy abode of Cure, the youngest of the three sparrows. The castle was as dark as a dungeon, but the guide found his way within to the reception-hall, where Cure, in regal feathers, sat surrounded by a guard of crows bearing torches.“Who is this?” inquired the youngest sparrow sternly.“A grumbling boy, your Highness.”[89]“Let him be cured. Take him away.”The words were scarcely spoken ere poor Toby found himself instantly transformed into a donkey with long ears. He was on a hard, hilly road, dragging a heavy dray after him loaded with firewood. At first the lad felt somewhat doubtful respecting the sudden transformation, but a smart thump across his buttock soon convinced him he was no longer an idle boy, but a beast of burden, with a cruel youth for his master, who beat and bruised him unmercifully with a thick stick. Oh! the long and weary hours he had to toil, while the miserable food he had to eat made him weep, and wet the winkers with his tears. He thought of his uncle and his home, and all the many kindnesses he had received, and had repaid with complaints and grumblings, and he vowed earnestly, and with true penitence, that if ever he got back again to the mine and to his kind relative, he would avoid complaining for the rest of his life.With this firm resolve came another sudden shifting in the magic scene. So sudden was it that Toby rubbed his eyes, and found himself in that self-same narrow drive in the mine at Ballarat, with his uncle shaking him by the[90]collar, and telling him that it was time to go to the surface.Toby is a man now, and is married and has several children; and if one of these begins to grumble, he does not forget to remind them of the Three Sparrows.[91]

THREE SPARROWS.

Toby Grumbleton worked with his uncle down in one of the deepest mines in Ballarat. If you had searched the whole district in that gold hunting region, you couldn’t have found a more selfish, lazy, and disobedient boy than Toby. In consequence of his surly and complaining disposition his companions had bestowed upon him the nickname of “Toby the Growler,” and he well deserved the title; for a greater snivelling, discontented youth never existed.“‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’”“ ‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’ ”One day, while at work in the mine, Toby was ordered to gather together all the blunt tools and send them up to the surface to be sharpened. As usual, Toby began to grumble, whereupon his uncle gave him a good thrashing, and the “Growler” ran off into one of the usual drives or passages of the mine to indulge in a sulking fit. Of the many dark and wide caverns underground, none in the whole pit was so large and so gloomy and dismal as the one in which “Toby[83]the Growler” had taken refuge, yet the boy had not been there long before he became aware of a strange yellow-coloured glow lighting up the drive. Looking up, he beheld a little old dwarf, with a lamp in his hand, standing over him. Such a plain, ugly-looking creature Toby had never seen before, though there are any number of queer-looking fellows at Ballarat. The intruder was small, not nearly so tall as Toby, but his head was a rasper, and appeared as if it had[84]belonged to several ancient individuals in succession, the eyes very red, and omitting a fiery glow. He was attired in a suit of brown russet, with a long sugar-loaf hat, and a crutch staff.“Get up, Toby the Growler, and follow me,” cried the dwarf in a brief tone, and looking at him with those horrid eyes. Toby felt inclined to disobey, but his heart sank within him at sight of the creature, and he therefore followed, grumbling as he went, and wondering where the ugly little humpback would lead him. Of one thing the boy was certain—that the end of the subterranean passage would effectually bar the progress of the unwelcome visitor; but the dim cave seemed to extend and open out before them as they proceeded, until it took the shape of a long railway tunnel, from which they at length emerged into the bright open sunlight, beaming down upon a landscape fairer than a child’s dream. The sudden transit from what appeared to be the bowels of a great high mountain to the noonday light almost blinded our friend Toby; but the dwarf touched him with his staff, and lo! the boy beheld a charming country teeming with life and beauty. Here were soft grassy spots, shaded by trees bending with ripe and golden-hued fruit; yonder a range of hills clothed with richest verdure, and[85]at the feet of which a broad lake gleamed like a burnished shield. There were swans on the lake, and birds of bright plumage on the trees and in the air, and birds everywhere around.“What place is this, sir?” cried Toby in amazement.“This is the land of the three sparrows,” answered the dwarf with a smile. “Look there; that little white building is the home of ‘Test,’ the eldest of the three; yonder by the water is the palace of ‘Try,’ while on the hills over there you can see the castle of ‘Cure,’ the youngest.”“Are they real sparrows, sir?” asked Toby.“No, boy, only in form. They are Australian elves. Every twenty years the great body of elfins in this country transform three of their number into the shape of sparrows, to govern this land, and also for other purposes, of which you may judge for yourself.” Saying which, the dwarf caught the Growler in his arms, and in an instant they were standing by the white palace on the lake. All the windows and doors were wide open, so the dwarf entered with his companion and conducted him to a large room where Test sat perched on the back of an armchair. He seemed a well-feathered, plump old bird and wore spectacles.[86]“Ah, Grip, my trusty messenger,” he cried, “I see you have returned with the Growler; take him hence and test him in the usual way.”“Very well, your Excellency,” and the dwarf bent low in obeisance and retired. He led Toby away into a large empty hall, and standing him up beside the door, said, “Toby, Toby, shut your eyes and see what Fate will send you.” The Growler closed his eyes, when the voice of the dwarf was again heard. “Toby, Toby, open your eyes and see what Fatehassent you.”The boy opened his eyes and beheld the most magnificent apartment it is possible to conceive. Tables with marble tops, inlaid with gold, were loaded with choice fruits and lollies, and by some enchantment the boy’s ragged clothes were changed to a gorgeous suit of crimson velvet, bordered with pearls, and several servants stood at hand ready to do his bidding.“Ah, this is as it should be!” cried the delighted Toby. “I shall never grumble again if I am to live like this. Here are guns to shoot with; dogs to hunt with; horses to ride, and plenty of fishing in the lake. Ah! I shall be thoroughly satisfied now.” And the Growler set about enjoying himself.But alas! for human resolves. The fruit made[87]Toby ill; one of the horses threw him and hurt his leg; he nearly shot himself with his gun; and was all but drowned in the lake while fishing; and so he began to complain worse than before. But the moment he did so, the splendid scene vanished from before him in the twinkling of an eye, and he discovered himself in the bare and empty room again, with only his dirty rags, and the dwarf standing grinning beside him.“Come along with me, Toby the Growler,” cried the old fellow in a mocking tone; and before the boy could refuse he was borne away to the palace of Try. This old and venerable sparrow was deep in the pages of theObserverwhen Grip entered with Toby.“Whom have we here?” he inquired, addressing the dwarf.“Please, your Worship, this is a mortal who has been tested by your Worship’s brother, and has failed,” answered Grip.“What is his special defect?”“Grumbling, your Worship.”“Humph! a common quality among mortals, more especially with farmers and boys. Try him without delay.”With the quickness of a shifting scene in a[88]magic-lantern Toby was transferred to a cottage in a lonely valley, occupied by an old lady and gentleman, who welcomed him as if he had been their own son, and procured for him all that he could desire. The whole day was one round of pleasure and enjoyment, and the boy expressed himself grateful and satisfied with his position. One simple act he had to perform in return for all this kindness, and that was to draw seven buckets of water from a well every morning, for the use of the cottage. Yet Toby the Growler, unmindful of past experience, began to grumble again, and once more he found himself by the lake with the dwarf at his elbow.“For the last time, come with me, Toby the Growler,” he cried in a terrible voice, while his red flaming eyes shot out flashes like fire. The boy felt utterly powerless to resist, and swift as a streak of lightning he was carried to the gloomy abode of Cure, the youngest of the three sparrows. The castle was as dark as a dungeon, but the guide found his way within to the reception-hall, where Cure, in regal feathers, sat surrounded by a guard of crows bearing torches.“Who is this?” inquired the youngest sparrow sternly.“A grumbling boy, your Highness.”[89]“Let him be cured. Take him away.”The words were scarcely spoken ere poor Toby found himself instantly transformed into a donkey with long ears. He was on a hard, hilly road, dragging a heavy dray after him loaded with firewood. At first the lad felt somewhat doubtful respecting the sudden transformation, but a smart thump across his buttock soon convinced him he was no longer an idle boy, but a beast of burden, with a cruel youth for his master, who beat and bruised him unmercifully with a thick stick. Oh! the long and weary hours he had to toil, while the miserable food he had to eat made him weep, and wet the winkers with his tears. He thought of his uncle and his home, and all the many kindnesses he had received, and had repaid with complaints and grumblings, and he vowed earnestly, and with true penitence, that if ever he got back again to the mine and to his kind relative, he would avoid complaining for the rest of his life.With this firm resolve came another sudden shifting in the magic scene. So sudden was it that Toby rubbed his eyes, and found himself in that self-same narrow drive in the mine at Ballarat, with his uncle shaking him by the[90]collar, and telling him that it was time to go to the surface.Toby is a man now, and is married and has several children; and if one of these begins to grumble, he does not forget to remind them of the Three Sparrows.[91]

Toby Grumbleton worked with his uncle down in one of the deepest mines in Ballarat. If you had searched the whole district in that gold hunting region, you couldn’t have found a more selfish, lazy, and disobedient boy than Toby. In consequence of his surly and complaining disposition his companions had bestowed upon him the nickname of “Toby the Growler,” and he well deserved the title; for a greater snivelling, discontented youth never existed.

“‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’”“ ‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’ ”

“ ‘GET UP, TOBY THE GROWLER, AND FOLLOW ME.’ ”

One day, while at work in the mine, Toby was ordered to gather together all the blunt tools and send them up to the surface to be sharpened. As usual, Toby began to grumble, whereupon his uncle gave him a good thrashing, and the “Growler” ran off into one of the usual drives or passages of the mine to indulge in a sulking fit. Of the many dark and wide caverns underground, none in the whole pit was so large and so gloomy and dismal as the one in which “Toby[83]the Growler” had taken refuge, yet the boy had not been there long before he became aware of a strange yellow-coloured glow lighting up the drive. Looking up, he beheld a little old dwarf, with a lamp in his hand, standing over him. Such a plain, ugly-looking creature Toby had never seen before, though there are any number of queer-looking fellows at Ballarat. The intruder was small, not nearly so tall as Toby, but his head was a rasper, and appeared as if it had[84]belonged to several ancient individuals in succession, the eyes very red, and omitting a fiery glow. He was attired in a suit of brown russet, with a long sugar-loaf hat, and a crutch staff.

“Get up, Toby the Growler, and follow me,” cried the dwarf in a brief tone, and looking at him with those horrid eyes. Toby felt inclined to disobey, but his heart sank within him at sight of the creature, and he therefore followed, grumbling as he went, and wondering where the ugly little humpback would lead him. Of one thing the boy was certain—that the end of the subterranean passage would effectually bar the progress of the unwelcome visitor; but the dim cave seemed to extend and open out before them as they proceeded, until it took the shape of a long railway tunnel, from which they at length emerged into the bright open sunlight, beaming down upon a landscape fairer than a child’s dream. The sudden transit from what appeared to be the bowels of a great high mountain to the noonday light almost blinded our friend Toby; but the dwarf touched him with his staff, and lo! the boy beheld a charming country teeming with life and beauty. Here were soft grassy spots, shaded by trees bending with ripe and golden-hued fruit; yonder a range of hills clothed with richest verdure, and[85]at the feet of which a broad lake gleamed like a burnished shield. There were swans on the lake, and birds of bright plumage on the trees and in the air, and birds everywhere around.

“What place is this, sir?” cried Toby in amazement.

“This is the land of the three sparrows,” answered the dwarf with a smile. “Look there; that little white building is the home of ‘Test,’ the eldest of the three; yonder by the water is the palace of ‘Try,’ while on the hills over there you can see the castle of ‘Cure,’ the youngest.”

“Are they real sparrows, sir?” asked Toby.

“No, boy, only in form. They are Australian elves. Every twenty years the great body of elfins in this country transform three of their number into the shape of sparrows, to govern this land, and also for other purposes, of which you may judge for yourself.” Saying which, the dwarf caught the Growler in his arms, and in an instant they were standing by the white palace on the lake. All the windows and doors were wide open, so the dwarf entered with his companion and conducted him to a large room where Test sat perched on the back of an armchair. He seemed a well-feathered, plump old bird and wore spectacles.[86]

“Ah, Grip, my trusty messenger,” he cried, “I see you have returned with the Growler; take him hence and test him in the usual way.”

“Very well, your Excellency,” and the dwarf bent low in obeisance and retired. He led Toby away into a large empty hall, and standing him up beside the door, said, “Toby, Toby, shut your eyes and see what Fate will send you.” The Growler closed his eyes, when the voice of the dwarf was again heard. “Toby, Toby, open your eyes and see what Fatehassent you.”

The boy opened his eyes and beheld the most magnificent apartment it is possible to conceive. Tables with marble tops, inlaid with gold, were loaded with choice fruits and lollies, and by some enchantment the boy’s ragged clothes were changed to a gorgeous suit of crimson velvet, bordered with pearls, and several servants stood at hand ready to do his bidding.

“Ah, this is as it should be!” cried the delighted Toby. “I shall never grumble again if I am to live like this. Here are guns to shoot with; dogs to hunt with; horses to ride, and plenty of fishing in the lake. Ah! I shall be thoroughly satisfied now.” And the Growler set about enjoying himself.

But alas! for human resolves. The fruit made[87]Toby ill; one of the horses threw him and hurt his leg; he nearly shot himself with his gun; and was all but drowned in the lake while fishing; and so he began to complain worse than before. But the moment he did so, the splendid scene vanished from before him in the twinkling of an eye, and he discovered himself in the bare and empty room again, with only his dirty rags, and the dwarf standing grinning beside him.

“Come along with me, Toby the Growler,” cried the old fellow in a mocking tone; and before the boy could refuse he was borne away to the palace of Try. This old and venerable sparrow was deep in the pages of theObserverwhen Grip entered with Toby.

“Whom have we here?” he inquired, addressing the dwarf.

“Please, your Worship, this is a mortal who has been tested by your Worship’s brother, and has failed,” answered Grip.

“What is his special defect?”

“Grumbling, your Worship.”

“Humph! a common quality among mortals, more especially with farmers and boys. Try him without delay.”

With the quickness of a shifting scene in a[88]magic-lantern Toby was transferred to a cottage in a lonely valley, occupied by an old lady and gentleman, who welcomed him as if he had been their own son, and procured for him all that he could desire. The whole day was one round of pleasure and enjoyment, and the boy expressed himself grateful and satisfied with his position. One simple act he had to perform in return for all this kindness, and that was to draw seven buckets of water from a well every morning, for the use of the cottage. Yet Toby the Growler, unmindful of past experience, began to grumble again, and once more he found himself by the lake with the dwarf at his elbow.

“For the last time, come with me, Toby the Growler,” he cried in a terrible voice, while his red flaming eyes shot out flashes like fire. The boy felt utterly powerless to resist, and swift as a streak of lightning he was carried to the gloomy abode of Cure, the youngest of the three sparrows. The castle was as dark as a dungeon, but the guide found his way within to the reception-hall, where Cure, in regal feathers, sat surrounded by a guard of crows bearing torches.

“Who is this?” inquired the youngest sparrow sternly.

“A grumbling boy, your Highness.”[89]

“Let him be cured. Take him away.”

The words were scarcely spoken ere poor Toby found himself instantly transformed into a donkey with long ears. He was on a hard, hilly road, dragging a heavy dray after him loaded with firewood. At first the lad felt somewhat doubtful respecting the sudden transformation, but a smart thump across his buttock soon convinced him he was no longer an idle boy, but a beast of burden, with a cruel youth for his master, who beat and bruised him unmercifully with a thick stick. Oh! the long and weary hours he had to toil, while the miserable food he had to eat made him weep, and wet the winkers with his tears. He thought of his uncle and his home, and all the many kindnesses he had received, and had repaid with complaints and grumblings, and he vowed earnestly, and with true penitence, that if ever he got back again to the mine and to his kind relative, he would avoid complaining for the rest of his life.

With this firm resolve came another sudden shifting in the magic scene. So sudden was it that Toby rubbed his eyes, and found himself in that self-same narrow drive in the mine at Ballarat, with his uncle shaking him by the[90]collar, and telling him that it was time to go to the surface.

Toby is a man now, and is married and has several children; and if one of these begins to grumble, he does not forget to remind them of the Three Sparrows.[91]

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