"Oh, Mr Zankiwank, what is the matter with those children in short frocks and knickerbockers? Look at their heads!"
The Zankiwank gazed, but expressed no surprise, and yet the children, if they were children, certainly looked very queer, for the boys had got aged, care-worn faces with moustaches and whiskers, while the little girls, in frocks just reaching to their knees, had women's faces, with their hair done up in plaits and chignons and Grecian knot fashion, with elderly bonnets perched on the top.
"That," said the Zankiwank, "is the force of habit."
"What habit, please? It does not suit them," said Maude.
"You are mistaken. Good habits become second nature."
"And what do bad habits become?" queried Willie.
"Bad habits," answered the Zankiwank severely, "become no one."
"And these must be bad habits," exclaimed Willie, pointing to the children, "for they do not become them."
"I thought their clothes fitted them very well."
"We don't mean their clothes," cried Maude. "We mean their general appearance."
"Ah! you are referring to the unnatural history aspect of the case. You mean their heads, of course. They donotfit properly. I have noticed it myself. It comes of expecting too much, and overdoing it; it is all the result of what so many people are fond of doing—putting old heads on young shoulders."
So the mystery was out. The old heads were unmistakably on young shoulders. And how very absurd the children looked! Not a bit like happy girls and boys, as they would have been had they possessed their own heads instead of over-grown and over-developed minds and brains. Old heads never do look well on young shoulders, and it is very foolish of people to think they do. It makes them children of a larger growth before their time, and is just as bad as having young heads on old shoulders. The moral of which is, that you should never be older than you are nor younger than you are not.
"But what are they doing with those bellows?" enquired Willie and Maude together.
"Raising the wind," promptly responded the Zankiwank, "or trying to. When folk grow old before their time you will generally find that it is owing to the bother they had in raising the wind to keep the pot boiling."
"But you don't keep the pot boiling with wind," they protested.
"Oh yes you do, in Topsy-Turvey Land, though personally I believe it to be most unright!"
"Un—what?" exclaimed Maude.
"Unright. When a thing is wrong it must be unright. Just the same as when a thing is right it is unwrong."
While the Zankiwank was giving this very lucid explanation the "Old heads on young shoulders" children went sedately and mournfully away, just as a complete train of newspaper carts dashed up to a large establishment with these words printed outside—
Atnagagdlintit RalinginginarmikLusaruminassumik.
"Good gracious, what awful looking words! It surely must be Welsh?" The two children put the question to the Zankiwank.
"No, that is not Welsh. That is the way the Esquimaux of Greenland speak. It is the name of their paper, and means something to read, interesting news of all sorts. But in this newspaper they never print any news of any sort. They supply the paper to the Topsy-Turveyites every morning quite blank, so that you can provide yourself with your own news. Being perfectly blank, the editors succeed in pleasing all their subscribers."
"Well, I do not see any advantage in that."
"There you go again!" cried the Zankiwank. "You always want something with an advantage. What's the use of an advantage, I should like to know? You can only lose it. You cannot give it away. Do try to be original. But listen, Nobody's coming."
They both looked round wondering what the Zankiwank meant by his strange perversities, but could not see anyone.
"We can see Nobody," they said.
"Of course. Here he is!"
Well! Was it a shadow? Something was there without a doubt, and certainly without a body. It was a sort of skeleton, or a ghost, or perhaps a Mahatma! But it was not a Mahatma—it was in fact Nobody, of whom you have of course heard.
"At last, at last!" screamed the delighted Zankiwank, "with your eyes wide open and your faculties unimpaired you seeNobody! And what a memory Nobody has!"
"How can Nobody have a memory? Besides, we can see Nobody!" said Maude, more perplexed than she had ever been.
"Exactly, Nobody has a charming memory. Memory, as you know, is the sense you forget with it!"
"Memory," corrected Willie, "is the sense, if it is a sense, or impression you remember with."
"Oh, what dreadful Grammar! Remember with! How can you finish a sentence with a preposition? What do you remember with it?" demanded the Zankiwank reprovingly.
"Anything—everything you want to," replied Willie.
"Another preposition! Ah, if we could only remember as easily as we forget!"
"You are wandering from the subject," suggested Maude. "The subject is Nobody, and you have told us nothing about it."
"H'm," said the Zankiwank. "You have confessed that you can see Nobody, therefore I will request him to sing you a topical song. Now keep your attention earnestly directed towards Nobody and listen."
Knowing from past experience that the Zankiwank would have his own way, Maude and Willie, having no one else to think about, thought of Nobody, and to their amazement they heard these words sung as from a long way off, in a very hollow tone of voice:—
O Nobody's Nothing to Nobody,And yet he is something too;Though No-body's No-Body it yet is so odd heAlways finds nothing to do!When Nobody does nothing wrong,They say it is the cat;Though Nobody be long and strongAnd very likely fat.His name is heard from morn till night,He's known in ev'ry place;He does the deeds that are unright,Though no one sees his face.Nobody broke the Dresden vase,Nobody ate the cream;Nobody smashed that pipe of pa's,—It happened in a dream.Nobody lost Sophia's doll,Nobody fired Jim's gun;Nobody nearly choked poor Poll—Nobody saw it done!Nobody cracks the china cups,Nobody steals the spoons;Nobody in the kitchen sups,Or talks of honeymoons!Nobody courts the parlour-maid,She told us so herself!That Nobody, I'm much afraid,Is quite a tricky elf.For Nobody is any one,That must be very clear;Yet Nobody's a constant dun,Though no one saw him here.As Nobody is ever seenIn Anybody's shape,Nobody must be epiceneAnd very like an ape!For Nobody's Nothing to Nobody,And yet he is something too;Though No-body's No-Body it yet is so odd heAlways finds nothing to do!
O Nobody's Nothing to Nobody,And yet he is something too;Though No-body's No-Body it yet is so odd heAlways finds nothing to do!
When Nobody does nothing wrong,They say it is the cat;Though Nobody be long and strongAnd very likely fat.His name is heard from morn till night,He's known in ev'ry place;He does the deeds that are unright,Though no one sees his face.
Nobody broke the Dresden vase,Nobody ate the cream;Nobody smashed that pipe of pa's,—It happened in a dream.Nobody lost Sophia's doll,Nobody fired Jim's gun;Nobody nearly choked poor Poll—Nobody saw it done!
Nobody cracks the china cups,Nobody steals the spoons;Nobody in the kitchen sups,Or talks of honeymoons!Nobody courts the parlour-maid,She told us so herself!That Nobody, I'm much afraid,Is quite a tricky elf.
For Nobody is any one,That must be very clear;Yet Nobody's a constant dun,Though no one saw him here.As Nobody is ever seenIn Anybody's shape,Nobody must be epiceneAnd very like an ape!
For Nobody's Nothing to Nobody,And yet he is something too;Though No-body's No-Body it yet is so odd heAlways finds nothing to do!
Just as the song was finished, the Zankiwank cried out in alarm—
"There's Somebody coming."
And Nobody disappeared at once, for the children saw Nobody go!
"And now," said the Zankiwank, "we may expect the Griffin from Temple Bar and the Phœnix from Arabia."
A dark shadow enveloped the square in which they were standing; then there was a weird perfume of damp fireworks and saltpetre, and before any one could say Guy Fawkes, the Phœnix rose from his own funeral pyre of faded frankincense, mildewed myrrh, and similar luxuries, and flapped his wings vigorously, just as the Griffin jumped off his pedestal, which he had brought with him, and piped out—
"Here we are again!"
"Once in a thousand years," responded the Phœnix somewhat hoarsely, for he had nearly swallowed some of his own ashes.
The Griffin, as everybody knows, is shaped like an eagle from its legs to the shoulder and the head, while the rest of his body is like that of a lion. The Phœnix is also very much like an intelligent eagle, with gold and crimson plumage and an exceptionally waggish tail. It has the advantage of fifty orifices in his bill, through which he occasionally sings melodious songs to oblige the company. As he never appears to anyone more than once in five hundred years, sometimes, when he has the toothache for instance, only once in a thousand years—which is why he is called a rara avis—if you ever meet him at any time take particular notice of him. And if you can draw, if it is only the long bow, make a sketch of him. He lives chiefly on poets—which is why so many refer to him. He has been a good friend to the poets of all ages, as your cousin William will explain. If you have not got a cousin William, ask some one who has.
Not having the gift of speech, neither of them spoke, but they could sing, and this is what they intended to say, duet-wise:—
I am a sacred bird, you know,And I am a Griffin bold;In Arabia the blestWe feather our own nest,To keep us from the cold.And we're so very fabulous—Oh, that's the Griffin straight!We rise up from the flames,To play old classic games,Like a Phœnix up-to-date!
I am a sacred bird, you know,And I am a Griffin bold;In Arabia the blestWe feather our own nest,To keep us from the cold.And we're so very fabulous—Oh, that's the Griffin straight!We rise up from the flames,To play old classic games,Like a Phœnix up-to-date!
Then they spread out their wings and executed the most diverting feather dance ever seen out of a pantomime.
I am a watchful bird, you know,And I am a Phœnix smart;From Shakespeare unto Jones—The Welsh one—who intones,We have played a striking part.For we're so very mystical,Both off-springs of the brain;The Mongoose is ourpere,And the Nightmare is ourmere,And we thrive on Fiction Plain!
I am a watchful bird, you know,And I am a Phœnix smart;From Shakespeare unto Jones—The Welsh one—who intones,We have played a striking part.For we're so very mystical,Both off-springs of the brain;The Mongoose is ourpere,And the Nightmare is ourmere,And we thrive on Fiction Plain!
They repeated their dance and then knocked at the door of the nearest house and begged pantomimically for money, but as it was washing day they were refused. So they went into the cook shop and had some Irish Stew, which did not agree with them. Consequently they sprang into the hash that was simmering on the fire, and were seen no more. Whereupon the Zankiwank looked gooseberrily out of his eyes and murmured as if nothing out of the way or in the way had happened, or the Phœnix or the Griffin had existed—"The Bletherwitch will send me a telegram to say that she will be ready for the ceremony in half-an-hour."
"But where is the Bletherwitch, and how do you know?" asked Maude, somewhat incredulously.
"She is being arrayed for the marriage celebration. At present she is in Spain gathering Spanish onions."
"But Spanish onions don't come from Spain!"
"You are right. It is pickled walnuts she is gathering from the Boot Tree in the scullery. However, that is of no consequence. Let us be joyful as befits the occasion. Who has got any crackers?"
Before any reply could be given a voice in the air screamed out:—"Beware of the Nargalnannacus!" At which the Zankiwank trembled and the whole place seemed to rock to and fro.
"Whatisthe Nargalnannacus?"
"It's a noun!"
"How do you mean?"
"A noun is the name of a person, place or thing, I believe?"
"It was yesterday."
"It is to-day. And that is what the Nargalnannacus is. He, She, or It is a person, place or thing, and it travels about, and that is all I know of it. Nobody has ever seen a Nargalnannacus, and nobody ever will, not a real, proper, authen——"
"Authenticated," assisted Maude.
"Thank you—authenticated one. Directly they do they turn yellow and green, and are seen no more."
"What are we to do then?" anxiously enquired Willie.
"The best that offers. We have been expecting an outbreak for a long time, and here comes the Court Physician, Dr Pampleton, to happily confirm my worst suspicions!"
The children thought it extremely odd that having one's worst suspicions confirmed should make any person happy. But they were accustomed to the Zankiwank's curious modes of speech and lack of logic, so that they wisely held their tongues in silence. The newcomer was of very remarkable appearance. He was tall and slim like the Zankiwank, but instead of having the ordinary shaped head and face, he carried on his shoulders a sheep's head, and in his veins (so they heard afterwards) ran sheep's blood. At one period of his existence he had been well-known for his wool-gathering propensities, and he was now strongly recommended as being able to commit more mistakes and blunders in half-an-hour than a school boy could in a whole school term. He had one great virtue, however, and that was that he would always instantly apologise for any error he might make.
He never travelled without his medicine chest, which he carried by straps over his shoulders, and was prepared to give anybody a dose of physic without the slightest provocation at double charges.
"There is danger ahead," he whispered to the Zankiwank, "and a lot of visitors are coming to fight to the bitter end."
"Tell me their names," cried the Zankiwank excitedly. Whereupon, Dr Pampleton recited them as follows, the Zankiwank groaning as each cognomen was uttered:—
"The Wollypog" (groan)"The Fustilug" (groan)"What's-His-Name" (groan)"Thing'um-a-Bob" (groan)and"The Woogabblewabble Bogglewoggle and all his Court."
"The Wollypog" (groan)"The Fustilug" (groan)"What's-His-Name" (groan)"Thing'um-a-Bob" (groan)and"The Woogabblewabble Bogglewoggle and all his Court."
The last was too much for the Zankiwank, for he immediately climbed to the top of the tallest steeple in the town, saying with much discretion:—
"I will see that all is fair. I will be the judge."
Maude had only just got time to eat some of the Fern Seeds she had saved from what Robin Goodfellow had given her, and to give some to Willie, when a rushing as of many waters and a roaring as of the bursting of several gasometers were heard, and a noise of some two or three hundred tramping soldiers smote upon their ears, and they knew that something dreadful was going to happen. As the Bogglewoggle and the Wollypog and all the others came upon the scene, both the children recognised them, from what they had once read in a fairy book, as being the monsters of the Secret Cavern.
It was not going to be a battle, as they could see—it was only to be a quiet fight between the important folk of the Secret Cavern and Topsy Turvey Land. The Jorumgander was there, and so was the Jackarandajam and Mr Swinglebinks and all the others they had been introduced to. The Bogglewoggle was particularly noisy in calling out for the Zankiwank, but as he was engaged to be married, of course he could not risk his life just for the mere whim of a dragon, who was setting everything alight with his torch-like tail.
And then they all commenced to fight—cutting, slashing and crashing each other with double-edged swords, while the inhabitants applauded and the bands played the "Conquering Hero," although there was not any creature who conquered, that one could distinguish. It was a terrible sight. They never ceased for a minute, but went on cutting each other to pieces until at last they all lay dead upon the ground. No one was left alive to tell the awful news but the Zankiwank and Dr Pampleton. And what was most remarkable about the fight was that it was all done out of pure friendship—but friendship does not seem to be much good when all your friends are scattered about, as these were. Heads and arms and legs everywhere, and there certainly did not appear to be much hope of their ever being able to do any more damage.
The Zankiwank crept cautiously down from his pinnacle and joined Dr Pampleton.
"Our friends are very much cut up," said Dr Pampleton.
"What is to be done?" the Zankiwank enquired.
"Done? Why, with my special elixir I shall bring them all to life again," said the Court Physician promptly.
"Will you? Can you?"
"Of course. You get all the bodies and lay them in a line. I'll gather up the heads and stick 'em on with elastic glue. Then you find the arms and legs and we will soon have them ready for another bout."
So the Zankiwank sent the rest of the populace, that had been looking on, indoors to get their tea, while he set to work and did as that absurd old Doctor instructed him.
Willie and Maude could scarcely keep their eyes open, but they were so interested in the proceedings that they managed to see that the Court Physician with his usual foresight was sticking the heads on the wrong bodies, and the arms and legs he put on just as they were handed to him, left on the right, and right on the left, and no one individual got his own proper limbs fastened to him.
It was the funniest thing they had ever seen—better than any pantomime, for sure enough they all came to life again, and naturally, seeing another person's arms and legs on their bodies, they imagined themselves to be somebody else entirely. And then ensued the most deafening confusion conceivable, each one accusing the other of having robbed him in his sleep, for they were under the impression that they had been to bed in a strange place—and so they had.
It was the grandest transformation scene ever witnessed. The Zankiwank was in deep distress, but Dr Pampleton was in high glee and laughed immoderately.
"Such a funny mistake to make!" he crowed hysterically to the hopping, hobbling, jumping crowd of monsters and dwarfs, who were glaring at each other in a very savage manner.
"I beg your pardon—my fault—all lie down again, and I will cut you up once more and put you together correctly this time," said the Court Physician pleasantly.
"So!" they all bellowed in chorus, "it is you who have done all this mischief. Come on! We will soon rectify your blunder," and with a swish and a swirl they made one simultaneous movement towards the unfortunate Pampleton, and once again Pandemonium was let loose, when high above the din the voice of the Zankiwank was heard calling upon them to have patience and not to disturb the harmony, as the Bletherwitch had arrived at last. Meanwhile everybody rushed madly down the street after the Court Physician.
But the children could see nothing now. Everything was growing dim and dimmer, and the scene was fading, fading away into a blue light. And the last they heard was the Zankiwank speaking tenderly to the Bletherwitch, whom they were not destined to see after all, and saying:—
"Oh, my sweet Blethery, Blethery Bletherwitch! What a Bletherwitching little thing you are!"
Then there was a rumbling and a tumbling, and something stopped suddenly. A light was flashed before their eyes, and hey presto! there was John opening the carriage door for them to get out, and wonder of wonders, there were their dear mother and father standing in the hall of their own home waiting to receive them. And presently they were being kissed and caressed and petted because, as Mary their nurse said, they had slept in the carriage all the way home from the visit to their grandmama.
This, however, they stoutly denied. They knew better than that, and told their parents of all their adventures, which, as they declared, if they were not true they ought to be, and so they said goodnight and dreamt their dreams, if they were dreams, all over again.