If we fly at all, to fly _high_.
To be extremely polite.
To be kind and grateful to cats and all other animals.
All the trouble arose one day when the Princess (there is always a
Princess in a fairy-tale, you know) was playing in the garden with her
ball. She threw it up in the air much higher than usual and it never
came down again. There was an awful shriek, like ten thousand
steam-engines; all the ladies-in-waiting fainted in a row, the
inhabitants of the place went stone-deaf, and the Captain of the Guard,
who was in attendance with a company of his troops, seized the Princess,
put her on his horse, galloped away followed by his soldiers to a castle
on the top of a hill, deposited the Princess in the highest room, and
then and only then, told her what had happened.
“Miss,” he said, for he was so upset he forgot Court etiquette, “Miss,
your ball must have hit the Dreadful Griffin in the eye (I noticed he was
taking a little fly in the neighbourhood), and that was the reason of the
awful shriek. Well, Miss, the Dreadful Griffin never was known to
forgive anybody anything, so I snatched you up quick before he could get
at you and brought you to the Castle of the White Cats. There are
seventeen of these animals sitting outside the door and twenty-seven more
standing in the courtyard, so you’re as safe as safe can be, for the
Dreadful Griffin can’t look at a white cat without getting the ague and
then he shakes so a mouse wouldn’t be afraid of him. And now, Miss, I
must go back to your Royal Pa, so I will wish you good-morning.”
Having made this long speech the Captain suddenly remembered the Court
etiquette, became very hot and red, went out of the room backwards, and
instantly fell over the seventeen cats who all swore at him, which so
confused the poor man that he rolled down the stairs and out into the
court where the twenty-seven cats were having rations of mouse-pie served
out to them; and the Captain rolled into the middle of the pie, scalded
himself badly with the gravy, and was thankful to jump on his horse and
ride away with his soldiers to report matters to the King.
The King was so pleased with his promptitude that he made him the General
of the Flying Squadron, which only fights in the air, and conferred on
him the medal of the Society for the Suppression of Superfluous
Salamanders, whereat the Captain was overjoyed.
But this is a digression, and I only told you because I wanted you to see
that virtue is always rewarded.
Now for the poor Princess.
Well, she cried a little, of course, but the cats brought her some
mouse-pie, which she found very good, and she was soon quite happy
playing with some of the kittens and nearly forgot all about the Dreadful
Griffin; but he did not forget about _her_, oh dear no! He flew after
the Captain when he galloped away with the Princess, but when he saw the
White Cats he shook with ague so fearfully that his teeth rolled about in
his mouth like billiard balls and he had to go and get a new set before
he could eat his dinner. Well, he was in a perfect fury, and how to get
at the Princess he did not know. He swallowed several buckets of hot
brimstone, rolled his head in a red flannel petticoat, put his tail in a
hot sand-bag, and went to bed hoping to cure the ague, which he did
completely, so that he was quite well next day and more anxious to eat
the Princess than ever.
Now next door to the Dreadful Griffin (that is, a hundred miles away)
there lived a Wicked Witch, and he went to consult her as to how he might
get at the Princess. When the Wicked Witch heard what a sad effect White
Cats had on the Griffin’s constitution she said that she would have
expected a Griffin of his coils to have had more sense.
“Any slow-worm knows,” said the Wicked Witch, “that cats love mice better
than Princesses; therefore get a large sack of fat mice, let them loose a
little way from the castle, and when the cats see them they will run
after them, and you can eat the Princess.”
The Dreadful Griffin was so pleased with the Wicked Witch that he
presented her with a pair of fire-bricks and a hot-water tin, and then
flew away to the Purveyor of Mice, who lived in a town about seventy
miles away. He bought twelve hundred dozen fat mice of the best quality,
all the Purveyor had in stock that were home-grown, and flew on with them
to the castle. When he was a little way off he let the mice out,
expecting all the cats to arrive at once; but not a cat appeared. They
_heard_ mice and they _smelt_ mice, but not a cat moved, for they were on
their honour; so they kept guard and licked their lips sadly. When the
Griffin saw the last of the twelve hundred dozen mice disappearing down
the road with never a cat after them, he was in a tremendous temper and
flew away to the house of the Wicked Witch, only stopping to pick up a
steam engine which he dropped through her roof, and then went home to
bed. Next day he remembered a friend of his called the Grumpy Giant, who
lived six doors away, that is, about a thousand miles, so he flew to ask
his advice. When the Giant heard his story, he said in the gruffest
voice you ever heard, “Mice is common, try sparrers” (by which you can
see that he was quite an uneducated person), and then he turned over and
went to sleep.
The Dreadful Griffin at once flew away to the Sparrow Preserves, bought
eleven thousand, and then proceeded to let them fly close to the castle.
Still not a cat moved. As the cats’ copy-book well says, “Honour is
dearer to cats than mice or birds,” and all the kittens write this in
round-hand as soon as they can do lessons at all, and never forget it.
Well, I really dare not describe the state of mind the Griffin was in;
but he made the air so hot that all the people put on their thinnest
clothes, although it was the middle of winter. He flew home puffing and
snorting, and on the way he passed the house of the Amiable Answerer. He
went in and told his story, and his voice shook with rage. The Amiable
Answerer gave him a penny pink ice to cool him down, and then said
gently:—
“I think, dear Mr Griffin, that green spectacles would meet your case.
Then the cats which are now white would appear to you green and . . . ”
But the Griffin was already half-way to a Watchmaker’s where they sold
glasses. He burst into the shop, frightened the watchmaker so that he
fell into the works of the watch he was mending and could only be got out
with the greatest difficulty, seized twelve pairs of green spectacles,
put them on all at once and flew towards the castle.
Now the Dreadful Griffin was one of those creatures who do not stop to
think, consequently he came to grief. White cats gave him the ague, but
green dogs made him cough most fearfully; and a little way out of the
town he met thirteen white poodles taking a walk, who of course all
looked bright green to the Dreadful Griffin. He coughed so fearfully
that all the twelve pairs of spectacles fell off his nose and were
smashed to bits, and his plan was spoilt once more.
No, I am not going to tell you what the Dreadful Griffin said and did
then, it is too terrible to speak of, but he had to keep in bed for a
week, and drink hot tar, and have his chest ironed with a steam roller,
and his nose greased with seven pounds of tallow candles; but all his
misfortunes did not cure him of wanting to eat the Princess. When his
cough was better, he went for a walk in the wood near which he lived, to
think out a new plan. Suddenly he heard something croaking, and saw the
Fat Frog sitting under a tree. Now the Dreadful Griffin was so low in
his mind that he wanted to tell someone his troubles, so he told the Fat
Frog.
“Don’t come near me,” said the Fat Frog when he had finished, “for I hate
heat. If you look under the fifth tree from the end of the wood you’ll
find a thin packet. Put it in sixteen gallons of water and pour it over
the cats, only mind you shut your eyes first, and for goodness sake don’t
come into this wood any more, you dry up the moisture.”
The Griffin quite forgot to thank the Fat Frog, he was a Griffin of _no_
manners, but he didn’t forget to take the packet. It was labelled
‘Reckitt’s,’ and when he put it in the water all the water turned bright
blue. Then he took the pail in his claw, flew to the castle, shut his
eyes and poured some of the contents of the pail over the cats in the
courtyard.
When he opened his eyes there were twenty-seven bright blue, damp,
depressed cats; and he passed them without any difficulty. He shut his
eyes, wriggled up the stairs, poured the remaining mixture over the
seventeen cats, who all turned as blue as the rest, and then he burst
open the door of the Princess’s room. Fortunately there was a kind Fairy
flying over the castle at that very moment, who, seeing what was
happening, changed the Princess into a flea so that the Dreadful Griffin
couldn’t see her anywhere.
No, if I couldn’t tell you before, I certainly must not attempt now to
describe the Griffin’s behaviour when he found the Princess thus snatched
from his jaws. He went grunting and bellowing and screaming along; and
just as he was stopping to take breath he heard someone roaring with
laughter, and saw a little yellow man sitting on the top bough of a tree.
“Are you laughing at ME?” said the Dreadful Griffin (he was so angry that
he was quite polite). And the little man said quite as politely that he
certainly _was_.
“Why?” said the Dreadful Griffin, still fearfully polite.
“Because you’re such a green Griffin,” said the yellow man; and he
screamed with laughter again—“I know all about it, you’ve blued the cats
and now the Princess has greened you. She’s turned into a flea, and you
still want to eat her, and it never occurred to you, you green old
grampus of a Griffin, that fleas like _cats_. I suppose the Princess
flea wouldn’t jump on to a tabby kitten, and you couldn’t swallow the
kitten—oh dear, no—of course not . . .”
But the Griffin was gone. He went to the Zoo, found a tabby kitten,
though they are rare in that country, and flew back with it to the
Princess’s room.
He waited half an hour and then swallowed the kitten at one gulp; but he
instantly burst in four pieces, for the fluffy kitten tickled his
digestive organs so much that they cracked his sides and he died; and the
flea and the kitten came out quite unhurt, only a little damp.
Then a wonderful thing happened. The tabby kitten changed into the
little yellow man who had laughed at the Griffin. He grew, and grew, and
in a few minutes he was a handsome prince. His name was Prince Orange
Plushikins. One day a cruel witch whom he had offended had changed him
into an ugly yellow man, and had sworn that he should only regain his
shape if he was eaten by a Griffin when under the form of a tabby kitten;
which you know was precisely what happened. Well, Prince Orange
Plushikins at once asked the Princess flea to marry him, and the minute
the flea said “Yes,” the Princess reappeared. She and the Prince were
married next morning; and all the cats went to the steam laundry and were
washed and bleached and had their tails crimped and their whiskers
starched; and they danced at the wedding, and everybody lived happily
ever after.
The Discontented Daffodils.
THEY had the very loveliest home you can imagine, with beautiful soft
moss and grass to grow in, trees to form a cosy shelter from the wind,
and a dear little babbling stream to water them.
There were lots of daffodils in this pretty place, and nobody ever
discovered the nook to gather them. They rejoiced in the spring sunshine
and gentle breezes, the greeting of the birds, and the musical chatter of
the brook; then when their brief visit to the upper world was over they
nestled happily down in their warm mossy beds and slept till April came
again to wake them.
A little apart from the rest were four daffodils growing at the root of a
gnarled oak tree, and one fine sunshiny morning three of them took it
into their silly little heads that they were dull, the place was dull,
the other daffodils were dull, and they wanted a change.
It was mainly the fault of the cuckoo, for he was a grumbling,
mischief-making bird and used to spend a good deal of time talking to the
daffodils. This particular spring he had taken up his abode in the oak
tree, and was fond of talking of all the grand things he had seen, and a
great many he had not seen, for the cuckoo is a bird of fine imagination;
and at last, as I have already said, three of the daffodils made up their
minds that to be a flower and live in a wood was a very dreadful thing,
and not to be put up with any longer.
Now the cuckoo had told many strange tales about creatures with two legs
and beautiful coloured leaves which grew in an odd way, and feathers only
on their heads. They could not fly, but they could run about from place
to place, and dance and sing; and at last the daffodils decided that they
wished to be like these curious creatures, which the cuckoo called
_girls_.
Then there were sad times in that sweet little nook under the oak tree.
The naughty daffodils cried and quarrelled and bewailed their lot all day
long, till they made themselves and everybody else extremely wretched.
Their little sister shook her head at them, and scolded and said that for
her part she was not meant to have legs; but it was all no use, the
daffodils would not be quiet.
One day the Fairy Visitor who looked after the flowers in that part heard
the silly blossoms crying, and stopped to ask what was the matter. When
she heard the story she told them they were very foolish and
discontented, and that the cuckoo was a most mischievous bird and liked
to get people into trouble; but the daffodils would not listen. So
knowing there is nothing so likely to cure silly flower as to give them
their own silly way, she said—“Very well, my dears, you want to be girls,
and girls you shall be.”
With that she waved her wand over the three daffodils and in a twinkle
they were gone; in their places stood three tall pretty maidens dressed
in soft yellow silk frocks with green stockings and shoes. For a minute
they were too much astonished to speak, then clapping their hands they
laughed and skipped for joy, and wanted to kiss the old fairy because
they were so pleased at getting their own way; but the fairy would not
look at them, and stooped over the little flower now growing all alone,
saying kindly:—
“Well, little one, don’t you want to be a pretty maiden, too?”