“He thought he saw an Elephant,That practised on a fife:He looked again, and found it wasA letter from his wife.‘At length I realise,’ he said,‘The bitterness of Life!’”
“He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
‘At length I realise,’ he said,
‘The bitterness of Life!’”
And what a wild being it was who sang these wild words! A Gardener he seemed to be—yet surely a mad one, by the way he brandished his rake—madder, by the way he broke, ever and anon, into a frantic jig—maddest of all, by the shriek in which he brought out the last words of the stanza!
It was so far a description of himself that he had thefeetof an Elephant: but the rest of him was skin and bone: and the wisps of loose straw, that bristled all about him, suggested that he had been originally stuffed with it, and that nearly all the stuffing had come out.
THE GARDENERTHE GARDENER
THE GARDENER
Sylvie and Bruno waited patiently till the end of the first verse. Then Sylvie advanced alone (Bruno having suddenly turned shy) and timidly introduced herself with the words “Please, I’m Sylvie!”
“And who’s that other thing?” said the Gardener.
“What thing?” said Sylvie, looking round. “Oh, that’s Bruno. He’s my brother.”
“Was he your brother yesterday?” the Gardener anxiously enquired.
“Course I were!” cried Bruno, who had gradually crept nearer, and didn’t at all like being talked about without having his share in the conversation.
“Ah, well!” the Gardener said with a kind of groan. “Things change so, here. Whenever I look again, it’s sure to be something different! Yet I does my duty! I gets up wriggle-early at five——”
“If I wasoo,” said Bruno, “I wouldn’t wriggle so early. It’s as bad as being a worm!” he added, in an undertone to Sylvie.
“But you shouldn’t be lazy in the morning, Bruno,” said Sylvie. “Remember, it’s theearlybird that picks up the worm!”
“It may, if it likes!” Bruno said with a slight yawn. “I don’t like eating worms, one bit. I always stop in bed till the early bird has picked them up!”
“I wonder you’ve the face to tell me such fibs!” cried the Gardener.
To which Bruno wisely replied “Oo don’t want afaceto tell fibs wiz—only amouf.”
Sylvie discreetly changed the subject. “And did you plant all these flowers?” she said.“What a lovely garden you’ve made! Do you know, I’d like to live herealways!”
“In the winter-nights——” the Gardener was beginning.
“But I’d nearly forgotten what we came about!” Sylvie interrupted. “Would you please let us through into the road? There’s a poor old beggar just gone out—and he’s very hungry—and Bruno wants to give him his cake, you know!”
“It’s as much as my place is worth!” the Gardener muttered, taking a key from his pocket, and beginning to unlock a door in the garden-wall.
“How muchareit wurf?” Bruno innocently enquired.
But the Gardener only grinned. “That’s a secret!” he said. “Mind you come back quick!” he called after the children, as they passed out into the road. I had just time to follow them, before he shut the door again.
We hurried down the road, and very soon caught sight of the old Beggar, about a quarter of a mile ahead of us, and the children at once set off running to overtake him.Lightly and swiftly they skimmed over the ground, and I could not in the least understand how it was I kept up with them so easily. But the unsolved problem did not worry me so much as at another time it might have done, there were so many other things to attend to.
The old Beggar must have been very deaf, as he paid no attention whatever to Bruno’s eager shouting, but trudged wearily on, never pausing until the child got in front of him and held up the slice of cake. The poor little fellow was quite out of breath, and could only utter the one word “Cake!”—not with the gloomy decision with which Her Excellency had so lately pronounced it, but with a sweet childish timidity, looking up into the old man’s face with eyes that loved ‘all things both great and small.’
The old man snatched it from him, and devoured it greedily, as some hungry wild beast might have done, but never a word of thanks did he give his little benefactor—only growled “More, more!” and glared at the half-frightened children.
“Thereisno more!” Sylvie said with tears in her eyes. “I’d eaten mine. It was a shameto let you be turned away like that. I’m very sorry——”
I lost the rest of the sentence, for my mind had recurred, with a great shock of surprise, to Lady Muriel Orme, who had so lately uttered these very words of Sylvie’s—yes, and in Sylvie’s own voice, and with Sylvie’s gentle pleading eyes!
“Follow me!” were the next words I heard, as the old man waved his hand, with a dignified grace that ill suited his ragged dress, over a bush, that stood by the road side, which began instantly to sink into the earth. At another time I might have doubted the evidence of my eyes, or at least have felt some astonishment: but, inthisstrange scene, my whole being seemed absorbed in strong curiosity as to what would happen next.
When the bush had sunk quite out of our sight, marble steps were seen, leading downwards into darkness. The old man led the way, and we eagerly followed.
The staircase was so dark, at first, that I could only just see the forms of the children, as, hand-in-hand, they groped their way down after theirguide: but it got lighter every moment, with a strange silvery brightness, that seemed to exist in the air, as there were no lamps visible; and, when at last we reached a level floor, the room, in which we found ourselves, was almost as light as day.
It was eight-sided, having in each angle a slender pillar, round which silken draperies were twined. The wall between the pillars was entirely covered, to the height of six or seven feet, with creepers, from which hung quantities of ripe fruit and of brilliant flowers, that almost hid the leaves. In another place, perchance, I might have wondered to see fruit and flowers growing together: here, my chief wonder was that neither fruit nor flowers were such as I had ever seen before. Higher up, each wall contained a circular window of coloured glass; and over all was an arched roof, that seemed to be spangled all over with jewels.
With hardly less wonder, I turned this way and that, trying to make out how in the world we had come in: for there was no door: and all the walls were thickly covered with the lovely creepers.
“We are safe here, my darlings!” said the old man, laying a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder, and bending down to kiss her. Sylvie drew back hastily, with an offended air: but in another moment, with a glad cry of “Why, it’sFather!”, she had run into his arms.
A BEGGAR’S PALACEA BEGGAR’S PALACE
A BEGGAR’S PALACE
“Father! Father!” Bruno repeated: and, while the happy children were being hugged and kissed, I could but rub my eyes and say “Where, then, are the rags gone to?”; for the old man was now dressed in royal robes that glittered with jewels and gold embroidery, and wore a circlet of gold around his head.
“Where are we, father?” Sylvie whispered, with her arms twined closely around the old man’s neck, and with her rosy cheek lovingly pressed to his.
“In Elfland, darling. It’s one of the provinces of Fairyland.”
“But I thought Elfland waseverso far from Outland: and we’ve come such atinylittle way!”
“You came by the Royal Road, sweet one. Only those of royal blood can travel along it: butyou’vebeen royal ever since I was madeKing of Elfland—that’s nearly a month ago. They senttwoambassadors, to make sure that their invitation to me, to be their new King, should reach me. One was a Prince; sohewas able to come by the Royal Road, and to come invisibly to all but me: the other was a Baron; sohehad to come by the common road, and I dare say he hasn’t evenarrivedyet.”
“Then how far have we come?” Sylvie enquired.
“Just a thousand miles, sweet one, since the Gardener unlocked that door for you.”
“A thousand miles!” Bruno repeated. “And may I eat one?”
“Eat amile, little rogue?”
“No,” said Bruno. “I mean may I eat one of that fruits?”
“Yes, child,” said his father: “and then you’ll find out whatPleasureis like—the Pleasure we all seek so madly, and enjoy so mournfully!”
Bruno ran eagerly to the wall, and picked a fruit that wasshapedsomething like a banana, but had thecolourof a strawberry.
He ate it with beaming looks, that became gradually more gloomy, and were very blank indeed by the time he had finished.
“It hasn’t got no taste at all!” he complained. “I couldn’t feel nuffin in my mouf! It’s a—what’s that hard word, Sylvie?”
“It was aPhlizz,” Sylvie gravely replied. “Are theyalllike that, father?”
“They’re all like that toyou, darling, because you don’t belong to Elfland—yet. But tomethey are real.”
Bruno looked puzzled. “I’ll try anuvver kind of fruits!” he said, and jumped down off the King’s knee. “There’s some lovely striped ones, just like a rainbow!” And off he ran.
Meanwhile the Fairy-King and Sylvie were talking together, but in such low tones that I could not catch the words: so I followed Bruno, who was picking and eating other kinds of fruit, in the vain hope of findingsomethat had a taste. I tried to pick some myself—but it was like grasping air, and I soon gave up the attempt and returned to Sylvie.
“Look well at it, my darling,” the old man was saying, “and tell me how you like it.”
“It’s justlovely,” cried Sylvie, delightedly. “Bruno, come and look!” And she held up, so that he might see the light through it, a heart-shaped Locket, apparently cut out of a single jewel, of a rich blue colour, with a slender gold chain attached to it.
“It are welly pretty,” Bruno more soberly remarked: and he began spelling out some words inscribed on it. “All—will—love—Sylvie,” he made them out at last. “And so they doos!” he cried, clasping his arms round her neck. “Everybodyloves Sylvie!”
“Butwelove her best, don’t we, Bruno?” said the old King, as he took possession of the Locket. “Now, Sylvie, look atthis.” And he showed her, lying on the palm of his hand, a Locket of a deep crimson colour, the same shape as the blue one and, like it, attached to a slender golden chain.
“Lovelier and lovelier!” exclaimed Sylvie, clasping her hands in ecstasy. “Look, Bruno!”
“And there’s words on this one, too,” said Bruno. “Sylvie—will—love—all.”
“Now you see the difference,” said the old man: “different colours and different words.Choose one of them, darling. I’ll give you whichever you like best.”
THE CRIMSON LOCKETTHE CRIMSON LOCKET
THE CRIMSON LOCKET
Sylvie whispered the words, several times over, with a thoughtful smile, and then made her decision. “It’sverynice to be loved,” she said: “but it’s nicer to love other people! May I have the red one, Father?”
The old man said nothing: but I could see his eyes fill with tears, as he bent his head and pressed his lips to her forehead in a long loving kiss. Then he undid the chain, and showed her how to fasten it round her neck, and to hide it away under the edge of herfrock. “It’s for you tokeep, you know,” he said in a low voice, “not for other people tosee. You’ll remember how to use it?”
“Yes, I’ll remember,” said Sylvie.
“And now, darlings, it’s time for you to go back, or they’ll be missing you, and then that poor Gardener will get into trouble!”
Once more a feeling of wonder rose in my mind as to how in the world we were togetback again—since I took it for granted that, wherever the children went,Iwas to go—but no shadow of doubt seemed to crosstheirminds, as they hugged and kissed him, murmuring, over and over again, “Good-bye, darling Father!” And then, suddenly and swiftly, the darkness of midnight seemed to close in upon us, and through the darkness harshly rang a strange wild song:—
“He thought he saw a BuffaloUpon the chimney-piece:He looked again, and found it wasHis Sisters Husband’s Niece.‘Unless you leave this house,’ he said,‘I’ll send for the Police!’”
“He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sisters Husband’s Niece.
‘Unless you leave this house,’ he said,
‘I’ll send for the Police!’”
‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A BUFFALO’‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A BUFFALO’
‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A BUFFALO’
“That wasme!” he added, looking out at us, through the half-opened door, as we stood waiting in the road. “And that’s what I’d have done—as sure as potatoes aren’t radishes—if she hadn’t have tooken herself off! But I always loves mypay-rintslike anything.”
“Who are oorpay-rints?” said Bruno.
“Them as payrintfor me, a course!” the Gardener replied. “You can come in now, if you like.”
He flung the door open as he spoke, and we got out, a little dazzled and stupefied (at leastIfelt so) at the sudden transition from the half-darkness of the railway-carriage to the brilliantly-lighted platform of Elveston Station.
A footman, in a handsome livery, came forwards and respectfully touched his hat. “The carriage is here, my Lady,” he said, taking from her the wraps and small articles she was carrying: and Lady Muriel, after shaking hands and bidding me “Good-night!” with a pleasant smile, followed him.
It was with a somewhat blank and lonely feeling that I betook myself to the van from which the luggage was being taken out: and, after giving directions to have my boxes sent after me, I made my way on foot to Arthur’s lodgings, and soon lost my lonely feeling in the hearty welcome my old friend gave me, and the cozy warmth and cheerful light of the little sitting-room into which he led me.
“Little, as you see, but quite enough for us two. Now, take the easy-chair, old fellow, and let’s have another look at you! Well, youdolook a bit pulled down!” and he put on a solemn professional air. “I prescribe Ozone,quant. suff.Social dissipation,fiant pilulæquam plurimæ: to be taken, feasting, three times a day!”
“But, Doctor!” I remonstrated. “Society doesn’t ‘receive’ three times a day!”
“That’s allyouknow about it!” the young Doctor gaily replied. “At home, lawn-tennis, 3P.M.At home, kettledrum, 5P.M.At home, music (Elveston doesn’t give dinners), 8P.M.Carriages at 10. There you are!”
It sounded very pleasant, I was obliged to admit. “And I know some of thelady-society already,” I added. “One of them came in the same carriage with me.”
“What was she like? Then perhaps I can identify her.”
“Thenamewas Lady Muriel Orme. As to what she waslike—well,Ithought her very beautiful. Do you know her?”
“Yes—I do know her.” And the grave Doctor coloured slightly as he added “Yes, I agree with you. Sheisbeautiful.”
“Iquite lost my heart to her!” I went on mischievously. “We talked——”
“Have some supper!” Arthur interrupted with an air of relief, as the maid entered withthe tray. And he steadily resisted all my attempts to return to the subject of Lady Muriel until the evening had almost worn itself away. Then, as we sat gazing into the fire, and conversation was lapsing into silence, he made a hurried confession.
“I hadn’t meant to tell you anything about her,” he said (naming no names, as if there were only one ‘she’ in the world!) “till you had seen more of her, and formed your own judgment of her: but somehow you surprised it out of me. And I’ve not breathed a word of it to any one else. But I can trustyouwith a secret, old friend! Yes! It’s true ofme, what I supposeyousaid in jest.”
“In the merest jest, believe me!” I said earnestly. “Why, man, I’m three times her age! But if she’syourchoice, then I’m sure she’s all that is good and——”
“—and sweet,” Arthur went on, “and pure, and self-denying, and true-hearted, and—” he broke off hastily, as if he could not trust himself to say more on a subject so sacred and so precious. Silence followed: and I leaned back drowsily in my easy-chair, filled with brightand beautiful imaginings of Arthur and his lady-love, and of all the peace and happiness in store for them.
I pictured them to myself walking together, lingeringly and lovingly, under arching trees, in a sweet garden of their own, and welcomed back by their faithful gardener, on their return from some brief excursion.
It seemed natural enough that the gardener should be filled with exuberant delight at the return of so gracious a master and mistress—and how strangely childlike they looked! I could have taken them for Sylvie and Bruno—less natural that he should show it by such wild dances, such crazy songs!
“He thought he saw a RattlesnakeThat questioned him in Greek:He looked again, and found it wasThe Middle of Next Week.‘The one thing I regret,’ he said,‘Is that it cannot speak!’”
“He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
‘The one thing I regret,’ he said,
‘Is that it cannot speak!’”
—least natural of all that the Vice-Warden and ‘my Lady’ should be standing close besideme, discussing an open letter, which had just been handed to him by the Professor, who stood, meekly waiting, a few yards off.
“If it were not for those two brats,” I heard him mutter, glancing savagely at Sylvie and Bruno, who were courteously listening to the Gardener’s song, “there would be no difficulty whatever.”
“Let’s hear that bit of the letter again,” said my Lady. And the Vice-Warden read aloud:—
“——and we therefore entreat you graciously to accept the Kingship, to which you have been unanimously elected by the Council of Elfland: and that you will allow your son Bruno—of whose goodness, cleverness, and beauty, reports have reached us—to be regarded as Heir-Apparent.”
“But what’s the difficulty?” said my Lady.
“Why, don’t you see? The Ambassador, that brought this, is waiting in the house: and he’s sure to see Sylvie and Bruno: and then, when he sees Uggug, and remembers all that about ‘goodness, cleverness, and beauty,’ why, he’s sure to——”
“Andwherewill you find a better boy thanUggug?” my Lady indignantly interrupted. “Or a wittier, or a lovelier?”
To all of which the Vice-Warden simply replied “Don’t you be a great blethering goose! Our only chance is to keep those two brats out of sight. Ifyoucan managethat, you may leave the rest tome.I’llmake him believe Uggug to be a model of cleverness and all that.”
“We must change his name to Bruno, of course?” said my Lady.
The Vice-Warden rubbed his chin. “Humph! No!” he said musingly. “Wouldn’t do. The boy’s such an utter idiot, he’d never learn to answer to it.”
“Idiot, indeed!” cried my Lady. “He’s no more an idiot thanIam!”
“You’re right, my dear,” the Vice-Warden soothingly replied. “He isn’t, indeed!”
My Lady was appeased. “Let’s go in and receive the Ambassador,” she said, and beckoned to the Professor. “Which room is he waiting in?” she inquired.
“In the Library, Madam.”
“Andwhatdid you say his name was?” said the Vice-Warden.
The Professor referred to a card he held in his hand. “His Adiposity the Baron Doppelgeist.”
“Why does he come with such a funny name?” said my Lady.
“He couldn’t well change it on the journey,” the Professor meekly replied, “because of the luggage.”
“Yougo and receive him,” my Lady said to the Vice-Warden, “andI’llattend to the children.”
I was following the Vice-Warden, but, on second thoughts, went after my Lady, being curious to see how she would manage to keep the children out of sight.
I found her holding Sylvie’s hand, and with her other hand stroking Bruno’s hair in a most tender and motherly fashion: both children were looking bewildered and half-frightened.
“My own darlings,” she was saying, “I’ve been planning a little treat for you! The Professor shall take you a long walk into thewoods this beautiful evening: and you shall take a basket of food with you, and have a little picnic down by the river!”
Bruno jumped, and clapped his hands. “Thatarenice!” he cried. “Aren’t it, Sylvie?”
Sylvie, who hadn’t quite lost her surprised look, put up her mouth for a kiss. “Thank youverymuch,” she said earnestly.
My Lady turned her head away to conceal the broad grin of triumph that spread over her vast face, like a ripple on a lake. “Little simpletons!” she muttered to herself, as she marched up to the house. I followed her in.
“Quite so, your Excellency,” the Baron was saying as we entered the Library. “All the infantry were undermycommand.” He turned, and was duly presented to my Lady.
“Amilitaryhero?” said my Lady. The fat little man simpered. “Well, yes,” he replied, modestly casting down his eyes. “My ancestors were all famous for military genius.”
My Lady smiled graciously. “It often runs in families,” she remarked: “just as a love for pastry does.”
The Baron looked slightly offended, and the Vice-Warden discreetly changed the subject. “Dinner will soon be ready,” he said. “May I have the honour of conducting your Adiposity to the guest-chamber?”
“Certainly, certainly!” the Baron eagerly assented. “It would never do to keepdinnerwaiting!” And he almost trotted out of the room after the Vice-Warden.
He was back again so speedily that the Vice-Warden had barely time to explain to my Lady that her remark about “a love for pastry” was “unfortunate. You might have seen, with half an eye,” he added, “that that’shisline. Military genius, indeed! Pooh!”
“Dinner ready yet?” the Baron enquired, as he hurried into the room.
“Will be in a few minutes,” the Vice-Warden replied. “Meanwhile, let’s take a turn in the garden. You were telling me,” he continued, as the trio left the house, “something about a great battle in which you had the command of the infantry——”
“True,” said the Baron. “The enemy, as I was saying, far outnumbered us: but I marchedmy men right into the middle of—what’s that?” the Military Hero exclaimed in agitated tones, drawing back behind the Vice-Warden, as a strange creature rushed wildly upon them, brandishing a spade.
“It’s only the Gardener!” the Vice-Warden replied in an encouraging tone. “Quite harmless, I assure you. Hark, he’s singing! It’s his favorite amusement.”
And once more those shrill discordant tones rang out:—
“He thought he saw a Banker’s ClerkDescending from the bus:He looked again, and found it wasA Hippopotamus:‘If this should stay to dine,’ he said,‘There won’t be much for us!’”
“He thought he saw a Banker’s Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus:
‘If this should stay to dine,’ he said,
‘There won’t be much for us!’”
Throwing away the spade, he broke into a frantic jig, snapping his fingers, and repeating, again and again
“There won’t be much for us!There won’t be much for us!”
“There won’t be much for us!
There won’t be much for us!”
‘IT WAS A HIPPOPOTAMUS’‘IT WAS A HIPPOPOTAMUS’
‘IT WAS A HIPPOPOTAMUS’
Once more the Baron looked slightly offended, but the Vice-Warden hastily explained that the song had no allusion tohim, and in fact had no meaning at all. “You didn’t mean anything by it, nowdidyou?” He appealed to the Gardener, who had finished his song, and stood, balancing himself on one leg, and looking at them, with his mouth open.
“I never means nothing,” said the Gardener: and Uggug luckily came up at the moment, and gave the conversation a new turn.
“Allow me to present my son,” said the Vice-Warden; adding, in a whisper, “one of the best and cleverest boys that ever lived! I’ll contrive for you to see some of his cleverness. He knows everything that other boysdon’tknow; and in archery, in fishing, in painting, and in music, his skill is—but you shall judge for yourself. You see that target over there? He shall shoot an arrow at it. Dear boy,” he went on aloud, “his Adiposity would like to see you shoot. Bring his Highness’ bow and arrows!”
Uggug looked very sulky as he received the bow and arrow, and prepared to shoot. Just as the arrow left the bow, the Vice-Warden trod heavily on the toe of the Baron, who yelled with the pain.
“Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed. “I stepped back in my excitement. See! It is a bull’s-eye!”
The Baron gazed in astonishment. “He held the bow so awkwardly, it seemed impossible!” he muttered. But there was no room for doubt:there was the arrow, right in the centre of the bull’s-eye!
“The lake is close by,” continued the Vice-Warden. “Bring his Highness’ fishing-rod!” And Uggug most unwillingly held the rod, and dangled the fly over the water.
“A beetle on your arm!” cried my Lady, pinching the poor Baron’s arm worse than if ten lobsters had seized it at once. “Thatkind is poisonous,” she explained. “Butwhata pity! You missed seeing the fish pulled out!”
An enormous dead cod-fish was lying on the bank, with the hook in its mouth.
“I had always fancied,” the Baron faltered, “that cod weresalt-water fish?”
“Not inthiscountry,” said the Vice-Warden. “Shall we go in? Ask my son some question on the way—anysubject you like!” And the sulky boy was violently shoved forwards, to walk at the Baron’s side.
“Could your Highness tell me,” the Baron cautiously began, “how much seven times nine would come to?”
“Turn to the left!” cried the Vice-Warden, hastily stepping forwards to show the way—sohastily, that he ran against his unfortunate guest, who fell heavily on his face.
“Sosorry!” my Lady exclaimed, as she and her husband helped him to his feet again. “My son was in the act of saying ‘sixty-three’ as you fell!”
The Baron said nothing: he was covered with dust, and seemed much hurt, both in body and mind. However, when they had got him into the house, and given him a good brushing, matters looked a little better.
Dinner was served in due course, and every fresh dish seemed to increase the good-humour of the Baron: but all efforts, to get him to express his opinion as to Uggug’s cleverness, were in vain, until that interesting youth had left the room, and was seen from the open window, prowling about the lawn with a little basket, which he was filling with frogs.
“So fond of Natural History as he is, dear boy!” said the doting mother. “Nowdotell us, Baron, what you think of him!”
“To be perfectly candid,” said the cautious Baron, “I would like alittlemore evidence. I think you mentioned his skill in——”
“Music?” said the Vice-Warden. “Why, he’s simply a prodigy! You shall hear him play the piano.” And he walked to the window. “Ug——I mean my boy! Come in for a minute,and bring the music-master with you! To turn over the music for him,” he added as an explanation.
Uggug, having filled his basket with frogs, had no objection to obey, and soon appeared in the room, followed by a fierce-looking little man, who asked the Vice-Warden “Vot music vill you haf?”
“The Sonata that His Highness plays so charmingly,” said the Vice-Warden.
“His Highness haf not——” the music-master began, but was sharply stopped by the Vice-Warden.
“Silence, Sir! Go and turn over the music for his Highness. My dear,” (to the Wardeness) “will you show him what to do? And meanwhile, Baron, I’ll just show you a most interesting map we have—of Outland, and Fairyland, and that sort of thing.”
THE MAP OF FAIRYLANDTHE MAP OF FAIRYLAND
THE MAP OF FAIRYLAND
By the time my Lady had returned, from explaining things to the music-master, the map had been hung up, and the Baron was already much bewildered by the Vice-Warden’s habit of pointing to one place while he shouted out the name of another.
My Lady joining in, pointing out other places, and shouting other names, only made matters worse; and at last the Baron, in despair, took to pointing out places for himself, and feebly asked “Is that great yellow splotchFairyland?”
“Yes, that’s Fairyland,” said the Vice-Warden: “and you might as well give him a hint,” he muttered to my Lady, “about going back to-morrow. He eats like a shark! It would hardly do formeto mention it.”
His wife caught the idea, and at once began giving hints of the most subtle and delicate kind. “Just see what a short way it is back to Fairyland! Why, if you started to-morrow morning, you’d get there in very little more than a week!”
The Baron looked incredulous. “It took me a full month tocome,” he said.
“But it’s ever so much shorter, goingback, you know!”
The Baron looked appealingly to the Vice-Warden, who chimed in readily. “You can go backfivetimes, in the time it took you to come hereonce—if you start to-morrow morning!”
All this time the Sonata was pealing through the room. The Baron could not help admitting to himself that it was being magnificently played: but he tried in vain to get a glimpse of the youthful performer. Every time he had nearly succeeded in catching sight of him, either the Vice-Warden or his wife was sure to get in the way, pointing out some new place on the map, and deafening him with some new name.
He gave in at last, wished a hasty good-night, and left the room, while his host and hostess interchanged looks of triumph.
“Deftly done!” cried the Vice-Warden. “Craftily contrived! But what means all that tramping on the stairs?” He half-opened the door, looked out, and added in a tone of dismay, “The Baron’s boxes are being carried down!”
“And what means all that rumbling of wheels?” cried my Lady. She peeped through the window curtains. “The Baron’s carriage has come round!” she groaned.
At this moment the door opened: a fat, furious face looked in: a voice, hoarse with passion, thundered out the words “My room is full of frogs—I leave you!”: and the door closed again.
And still the noble Sonata went pealing through the room: but it wasArthur’smasterly touch that roused the echoes, and thrilled my very soul with the tender music of the immortal ‘Sonata Pathetique’: and it was not till the last note had died away that the tired but happy traveler could bring himself to utter the words “good-night!” and to seek his much-needed pillow.
The next day glided away, pleasantly enough, partly in settling myself in my new quarters, and partly in strolling round the neighbourhood, under Arthur’s guidance, and trying to form a general idea of Elveston and its inhabitants. When five o’clock arrived, Arthur proposed—without any embarrassment this time—to take me with him up to ‘the Hall,’ in order that I might make acquaintance with the Earl of Ainslie, who had taken it for the season, and renew acquaintance with his daughter Lady Muriel.
My first impressions of the gentle, dignified, and yet genial old man were entirely favourable: and therealsatisfaction that showed itself on his daughter’s face, as she met me with the words “this is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure!”, was very soothing for whatever remains of personal vanity the failures and disappointments of many long years, and much buffeting with a rough world, had left in me.
Yet I noted, and was glad to note, evidence of a far deeper feeling than mere friendly regard, in her meeting with Arthur—though this was, as I gathered, an almost daily occurrence—and the conversation between them, in which the Earl and I were only occasional sharers, had an ease and a spontaneity rarely met with except betweenveryold friends: and, as I knew that they had not known each other for a longer period than the summer which was now rounding into autumn, I felt certain that ‘Love,’ and Love alone, could explain the phenomenon.
“How convenient it would be,” Lady Muriel laughingly remarked,à proposof my having insisted on saving her the trouble of carrying acup of tea across the room to the Earl, “if cups of tea had no weight at all! Then perhaps ladies wouldsometimesbe permitted to carry them for short distances!”
“One can easily imagine a situation,” said Arthur, “where things wouldnecessarilyhave no weight, relatively to each other, though each would have its usual weight, looked at by itself.”
“Some desperate paradox!” said the Earl. “Tell us how it could be. We shall never guess it.”
“Well, suppose this house, just as it is, placed a few billion miles above a planet, and with nothing else near enough to disturb it: of course it fallstothe planet?”
The Earl nodded. “Of course—though it might take some centuries to do it.”
“And is five-o’clock-tea to be going on all the while?” said Lady Muriel.
“That, and other things,” said Arthur. “The inhabitants would live their lives, grow up and die, and still the house would be falling, falling, falling! But now as to the relative weight of things. Nothing can beheavy, you know,except bytryingto fall, and being prevented from doing so. You all grant that?”
We all granted that.
“Well, now, if I take this book, and hold it out at arms length, of course I feel itsweight. It is trying to fall, and I prevent it. And, if I let go, it falls to the floor. But, if we were all falling together, it couldn’t betryingto fall any quicker, you know: for, if I let go, what more could it do than fall? And, as my hand would be falling too—at the same rate—it would never leave it, for that would be to get ahead of it in the race. And it could never overtake the falling floor!”
“I see it clearly,” said Lady Muriel. “But it makes one dizzy to think of such things! Howcanyou make us do it?”
“There is a more curious idea yet,” I ventured to say. “Suppose a cord fastened to the house, from below, and pulled down by some one on the planet. Then of course thehousegoes faster than its natural rate of falling: but the furniture—with our noble selves—would go on falling at their old pace, and would therefore be left behind.”
“Practically, we should rise to the ceiling,” said the Earl. “The inevitable result of which would be concussion of brain.”
“To avoid that,” said Arthur, “let us have the furniture fixed to the floor, and ourselves tied down to the furniture. Then the five-o’clock-tea could go on in peace.”
“With one little drawback!” Lady Muriel gaily interrupted. “We should take thecupsdown with us: but what about thetea?”
“I had forgotten thetea,” Arthur confessed. “That, no doubt, would rise to the ceiling—unless you chose to drink it on the way!”
“Which, I think, isquitenonsense enough for one while!” said the Earl. “What news does this gentleman bring us from the great world of London?”
This drewmeinto the conversation, which now took a more conventional tone. After a while, Arthur gave the signal for our departure, and in the cool of the evening we strolled down to the beach, enjoying the silence, broken only by the murmur of the sea and the far-away music of some fishermen’s song, almost as much as our late pleasant talk.
We sat down among the rocks, by a little pool, so rich in animal, vegetable, and zoöphytic—or whatever is the right word—life, that I became entranced in the study of it, and, when Arthur proposed returning to our lodgings, I begged to be left there for a while, to watch and muse alone.
The fishermen’s song grew ever nearer and clearer, as their boat stood in for the beach; and I would have gone down to see them land their cargo of fish, had not the microcosm at my feet stirred my curiosity yet more keenly.
One ancient crab, that was for ever shuffling frantically from side to side of the pool, had particularly fascinated me: there was a vacancy in its stare, and an aimless violence in its behaviour, that irresistibly recalled the Gardener who had befriended Sylvie and Bruno: and, as I gazed, I caught the concluding notes of the tune of his crazy song.
The silence that followed was broken by the sweet voice of Sylvie. “Would you please let us out into the road?”
“What! After that old beggar again?” the Gardener yelled, and began singing:—
“He thought he saw a KangarooThat worked a coffee-mill:He looked again, and found it wasA Vegetable-Pill.‘Were I to swallow this,’ he said,‘I should be very ill!’”
“He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
‘Were I to swallow this,’ he said,
‘I should be very ill!’”
“We don’t want him to swallowanything,” Sylvie explained. “He’s not hungry. But we want to see him. So will you please——”
‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A KANGAROO’‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A KANGAROO’
‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW A KANGAROO’
“Certainly!” the Gardener promptly replied. “Ialwaysplease. Never displeases nobody.There you are!” And he flung the door open, and let us out upon the dusty high-road.
We soon found our way to the bush, which had so mysteriously sunk into the ground: and here Sylvie drew the Magic Locket from its hiding-place, turned it over with a thoughtful air, and at last appealed to Bruno in a rather helpless way. “Whatwasit we had to do with it, Bruno? It’s all gone out of my head!”
“Kiss it!” was Bruno’s invariable recipe in cases of doubt and difficulty. Sylvie kissed it, but no result followed.
“Rub it the wrong way,” was Bruno’s next suggestion.
“Whichisthe wrong way?” Sylvie most reasonably enquired. The obvious plan was to trybothways.
Rubbing from left to right had no visible effect whatever.
From right to left—“Oh, stop, Sylvie!” Bruno cried in sudden alarm. “Whateverisgoing to happen?”
For a number of trees, on the neighbouring hillside, were moving slowly upwards, in solemn procession: while a mild little brook, that had been rippling at our feet a moment before, began to swell, and foam, and hiss, and bubble, in a truly alarming fashion.