if it doesn’t go?” said the big grandfather clock. “It never was much
use anyway. No chime, and a very poor tick. Of course it’s got no
constitution to speak of.” And his brazen face grew even shinier than
it had been before, and he gave a self-satisfied little cough and then
sang out his quarters as loudly as ever he could.
The cuckoo clock, which lived in the hall, and used to join in the talk
when the door was open, actually went so far as to make up a little
rhyme about it.
“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,” it sang. “What’s the use of you? What’s the
use of you? Cuckoo, cuckoo.”
The chairs, which were Chippendale, and tremendously proud of the fact,
were quite as rude.
“There’s no doubt about it,” they said, “quality is what tells. You
can’t expect a thing to last unless it is really well made, inside and
out. Perfect workmanship will wear practically for ever.” And they held
up their backs as straight as could be and curved their shapely arms
and legs into the most elegant lines imaginable.
The little Chelsea flower-seller and flute-player, who stood on each
side of the clock on the mantelshelf, were much kinder, and did their
best to console it.
They had always been on friendly terms with it, and they used to peep
round it and smile and wave to one another.
[Illustration]
“The Fairy Queen is probably coming to see us soon,” said the
flower-seller. “Perhaps she may be able to help you.”
The little clock felt happier; it would be wonderful to be introduced
to the Fairy Queen, who had often been to see the Chelsea figures but
had so far never taken notice of any of the other things.
You see, those two were old friends of hers. They came from Fairyland
originally, but the tale went that a wicked witch had cast a spell
over them which was to last for seven hundred and seventy-seven years.
At the end of that time they would be able to go back to Fairyland,
but meanwhile the Queen used to come and visit them now and then in
order to cheer them up. Sure enough, the very next time she came,
the flower-seller remembered about the little clock and told her how
unhappy it was.
The Queen came and stood in front of it and stroked its face with her
tiny hand and patted its pretty ormolu pillars.
Finally she sat down on the little green marble slab on which it stood,
and asked it to tell her all its troubles.
And the little clock opened its heart to her and told her how miserable
it was to think that it would never, never be able to tell the time
again.
“But you _will_,” said the Queen. “Every day and every night at eleven
o’clock you will be exactly right. None of the other clocks”--she
glanced round almost contemptuously at the grandfather--“can be quite
sure of ever being perfectly right. But you will be. Why, it must be
about eleven now.” She pulled a dandelion-clock from her pocket and
began to blow and to count. “One, two, three, four....” The white
darts floated away and went drifting about the room. At last only one
remained.
[Illustration: SHE PULLED A TINY DANDELION-CLOCK FROM HER POCKET AND
BEGAN TO BLOW AND TO COUNT]
At that moment the cuckoo clock was heard striking in the hall. The
Queen stopped blowing to listen.
“He’s fast,” she said, and waited till he had finished. “Five, six,
seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,” she went on, and, as she ended, the
last white morsel of down rose in the air. She glanced at the little
clock. “You see, you’re quite right,” she said triumphantly. “And
to-morrow morning you’ll be right again at eleven o’clock.”
The little clock beamed, and it beamed still more when the Fairy Queen
opened its glass door and gently clasped its hands in hers and said how
much she looked forward to seeing it again.
Just then the grandfather cleared his throat and went through his
pompous performance of chiming out the quarters and hour.
“You’re five minutes slow,” said the Queen, and she waved her hand and
vanished through the ventilator.
EIGHT
The Moon
The moon, of course, is a big golden penny hung up in the sky. Every
month when it is at the full the fairies stand in the fields and gaze
at it and feel in their empty pockets. There are so many things they
want to buy. Rainbow ribbon from the weather clerk for sashes, silken
thread from the spider for weaving into shawls, pearl varnish from the
snail for doing up their wings, and little red feathers from the robin
for wearing in their Sunday bonnets.
At last they can bear it no longer. They all go flying into the sky and
unhook the moon and carry it off to go marketing with. And when they’re
tired of spending they hang what is left of it up again in the sky and
go home to bed. But the next night they fetch it again and spend a
little more.
They go on doing this night after night for nearly a fortnight, and the
moon gets smaller and smaller, till at last there’s nothing left of
it at all. And when the fairies realise what they have done, they get
frightened.
“We’ve spent all the moon,” they say. “Suppose it never grew again!
Wouldn’t it be dreadful?” And they all hide away in the forest and
don’t come out for several nights.
But at last one of them takes courage and puts his head out, and he
sees a little tiny bit of moon shining in the sky. Whereupon he gives a
shout and claps his hands and goes running round to the houses of all
the other fairies to tell them the good news.
[Illustration]
“The moon’s growing again,” he says. “Come quick and look.” And they
all come out to look at it, and caper about and are as pleased as
pleased can be.
“We’ll never take it again,” they say. “It might not grow next time.”
But at the end of a fortnight they have worn all their pretties a
little shabby, and they want some more. And by that time the moon has
grown so big that they feel that they _must_ spend a little of it.
And--would you believe it?--they end up by doing all over again just
exactly what they did before.
They’ve been going on like this for ages, and what’s more, they’re
beginning to take it for granted that the moon will grow again, and so
I don’t suppose they’ll ever get cured. But it’s very tiresome of them.
We could quite well do with all the moon always. Besides, some day it
really might not grow again. And what then...?
NINE
The Third Adventure of the Rainbow Cat
When the Rainbow Cat left the land of the Tree-goblins he travelled for
some time until he came to a delightful country called the Bountiful
Land.
It was a marvellous country.
There were deep forests there, and great meadows full of the loveliest
flowers, such as only grow in gardens in other countries; the sky was
nearly always blue, and the people who lived in that land were happy
and contented. That is to say, they would have been but for one thing.
In the very middle of the country there was a great castle built high
upon a rock, and in this castle--so the inhabitants of the place told
the Rainbow Cat--there lived a cruel and wicked giantess who tyrannised
over the people and constantly took away their goods, sometimes even
their children.
The Rainbow Cat did not meet with any one who had actually seen the
giantess face to face, but terrible tales were told of her doings and
of her horrible appearance. She was three times the height of an
ordinary man, it was said. Her hair was like knotted ropes, her eyes
flamed fire; when she blew her nose, the sound was like thunder; when
she sneezed, forests swayed as beneath a hurricane; when she stamped
her foot, whole villages collapsed.
Besides being a giantess she was reported to be able to work magic, and
that frightened the people more than anything else.
On dark nights she would come down from her castle, they told him, in
a chariot drawn by six dragons, and when the people heard the noise
of it they fled into their houses and locked the doors and barred the
windows. From within they could hear their barns and granaries being
ransacked, and the opening of the doors of sheds and stables, whence
their best cattle and horses were carried off.
But sometimes a great voice would be heard shouting in the dark, “Throw
out your treasures or I will take your children.” Then the terrified
people opened their windows and threw out their treasures in fear and
trembling.
And notices would mysteriously appear in the villages, threatening
that unless certain things were delivered up at the castle gates, the
giantess would come down and take a terrible revenge.
The things were conveyed up the rocky path by terrified villagers, who
left them in front of the gates as commanded. They always came back
with most alarming stories of what they had observed.
One man had seen the giantess’s shoes being cleaned by a servant in the
courtyard. They were as big, he said, as a hay waggon.
[Illustration]
Another was so frightened by the sight of her washing hanging out on
the line that he ran all the way home and did not get over it for weeks.
But the worst thing of all was that children who had wandered a little
way from home disappeared and never came back.
Others who escaped would tell how an enormous cloaked figure had
suddenly sprung out from behind a tree, seized one of their comrades,
and made off into the woods.
The thing had grown so bad that people dare not let their children out
of their sight for a moment, and they were growing so afraid of the
visits of the giantess that all happiness was rapidly vanishing out of
the land.
The fame of the Rainbow Cat’s wisdom had already reached this country,
and the people were delighted to see him and implored him to come to
their assistance. The Rainbow Cat felt that this was a very serious
matter indeed, but he was exceedingly sorry for the people and promised
to do all he could to help them.
So on the evening of the second day after his arrival, he took his
little bag, which contained, among other things, the lightning which
the Thunder Giant had given him and the bottle of fairy water from
Tree-goblin-land, and quietly set off for the castle of the giantess.
He said nothing of his purpose to the kind folk with whom he was
staying--he knew it would only make them fearfully anxious.
He just said he was going out for a little walk in order to think the
matter over.
He climbed lightly and softly up the rocky path until he came right
under the castle walls.
There were two immense stone towers, one at each end of the castle,
and from the high chimney of one of them great clouds of evil-looking
smoke were pouring forth--green and purple and black.
“Aha,” said the Rainbow Cat to himself, “that’s where she’s busy at her
horrible tricks, is it?”
So he sat down outside the tower, opened his bag, and dabbed his eyes
with water from his little bottle, so that he was able to see right
through the wall into the inside of the tower.
To his great astonishment, he saw no giantess, but a very nasty-looking
old wizard with a long grey beard and an enormously tall hat, who sat
in a large room in front of a great open fire.
All manner of strange and terrible-looking things hung upon the walls
of the room or were stowed away in cupboards, and the floor and tables
were piled with books of magic.
A great bunch of keys hung from the girdle of the wizard, who was
busily stirring something which was bubbling over the fire in a big
black pot, from which came the smoke that the Rainbow Cat had noticed
pouring from the chimney.
The firelight shone on the labels of the keys, so that the Rainbow Cat
was able to read what was written on them.
“Gold Chest--Silver Chest--Jewel Chest--Giantess’s Room--Prisoners’
Room--Giantess’s Garden”: these were some of the names he read on the
labels, and he began to understand things a little better. But he
thought he would make a few more investigations. So he picked up his
little bag and walked softly off to the other end of the castle, sat
down on the ground at the foot of the tower there, and again bathed his
eyes with fairy water.
This time he found himself looking into a big room full of children.
They were all very busy.
Some of them were sorting strange-looking herbs, some of them were
grinding queer substances with heavy stones, some of them were
anxiously measuring out liquids drop by drop from one bottle into
another.
They all looked pale and tired; they did not laugh and talk over their
work as one would expect children to do.
And then the door of the room opened and in walked--who but the
giantess herself!
But imagine the surprise of the Rainbow Cat upon discovering that,
although she was indeed immensely tall, she was otherwise by no means a
terrible-looking person, but had, on the contrary, a sweet and charming
face and beautiful golden hair.
The children all came running up to her as soon as she appeared, and
seemed delighted to see her. She bent down and lifted some of them up
into her arms, and was so gentle and sweet with them all that it was a
joy to see her.
The Rainbow Cat lost no further time; he took his mandolin, and sitting
there at the foot of the tower, he began playing a little tune.
He daren’t play very loud for fear the wizard should hear him in the
other tower, but fortunately the wind was in the right direction, and
in any case he felt pretty certain that the wizard was too much taken
up with his enchantments to pay attention to anything else.
But the giantess heard, for of course giantesses have very much larger
ears than ordinary people and hear much better, and she put her head
out of the window and saw the Rainbow Cat sitting there in the dusk and
asked him who he was and what he was doing.
“I am a friend,” said the Rainbow Cat. “Help me to come up.”
So the giantess let down her ribbon waist-belt with the bag she kept
her handkerchief in tied to the bottom of it, and this was so large
that the Rainbow Cat was easily able to get into it together with his
precious bag and mandolin.
The giantess hauled him up to the window-sill and asked him to come
in and sit down and tell her what he was doing there and all about
himself, for she saw that he was no ordinary creature. And when he
had explained to her why he was there and what he had learnt in the
Bountiful Country, she told him her own tale.
How the wicked magician had stolen her away from home when she was
quite young and had brought her to this castle, and how he kept her
shut up, while with his magic spells he did all sorts of evil things.
“I know the people think it is all my doing,” said the poor giantess.
“He can turn an old wash-tub and six beans into a chariot drawn by
flaming dragons, and when he flies out he wears a great cloak over his
tall hat, so that every one takes him for me.
“He makes these poor children help him in his wicked work, and keeps
them prisoners just as he does me.
“He does not even give us enough to eat. If we are not soon rescued we
shall all die. He grows worse every day.”
Big tears fell from the giantess’s eyes.
Each one made a little pool where it fell.
“Don’t cry,” said the Rainbow Cat, “all will yet be well. My magic is
stronger than his. When once I get at him I’ll soon finish him off.
Will you take me to him?”
But the giantess was afraid; she said she dare not disturb him.
“Besides,” she said, “he would never let you in, he is so suspicious.”
“It’s got to be done somehow,” said the Rainbow Cat, “if you’re to be
set free.”
He sat softly strumming on his mandolin and thinking, and suddenly the
giantess had an idea.
“He loves music,” she said. “He says it helps his brain to work. If you
could pretend to be a wandering musician----”
The Rainbow Cat leapt with joy.
“The very thing, my dear,” he said. “Have you by any chance got a
peacock’s feather to lend me?”
This the giantess was able to provide.
“Thank you very much,” said the Rainbow Cat. “You will see; in an
hour’s time you will all be free. Good-bye for the present.”
He was so excited that he jumped clean out of the window--mandolin, bag
and all.
But he was quite all right.
You know, even ordinary cats are supposed always to fall on their feet,
and of course a fairy cat----!
When he reached the ground he wrapped himself in his cloak, pulled his
hat well over his eyes and stuck the peacock’s feather in the front of
it.
“Now I look just like a wandering musician,” he said, and he went
boldly up to the door of the wizard’s tower and pulled the bell.
The magician himself came to the door, but he opened it only the
tiniest little bit.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” he said in a very gruff voice.
“I am a poor wandering musician,” said the cat. “May I come in and give
you a tune?”
The wizard looked at him suspiciously. “What have you got in that
bag?” he asked, giving it a kick with his foot, so that the bundle of
lightning made a rattling noise.
“I’ve got all the major and minor keys in there,” said the Rainbow
Cat. “A bunch of them. That’s what makes such a rattle. But I can’t do
without them.”
“Sing me a song,” said the wizard, “and then I’ll see whether I’ll let
you in or not.”
So the Rainbow Cat sat down on the doorstep and sang this little song,
and the wizard stood just inside the door and listened.
THE SONG OF THE GOOSE
“There once was a goose who lived on a green,
Gold was his beak and his feathers were clean,
A handsomer creature there never was seen,
Heydiddle ho, never was seen;
He lived on a green and he waddled about,
For he said, ‘To be sure I don’t want to get stout,
And, anyway, exercise keeps off the gout;
Heydiddle ho, keeps off the gout.’”
“I don’t think much of that song,” said the wizard.
“The next verse is very good,” said the Rainbow Cat. “But I’m not
going to sing it out here in the cold night air. I shall ruin my voice.”
“Well, come in,” said the wizard, for he wanted to hear the end of the
song, and he let the Rainbow Cat in.
But no sooner were they inside the wizard’s room than the Rainbow Cat
opened his bag and pulled out the bundle of lightning and let it loose
all over the place. You never heard such a commotion!
Meanwhile he threw off his cloak, leapt upon the table, and stood
there with his hair all standing on end and his eyes darting green and
blue fire, while the lightning flashed all round him and round the
terrified wizard, who threw himself down on his knees, crying “Mercy,
Mercy!”--for he had never seen anything like it before and he was
anyway but a cowardly creature at heart.
Presently the wizard’s attendants came running to see what was the
matter.
They dare not come into the room, but stood trembling in the doorway.
“Tie him up,” commanded the Rainbow Cat in a great loud voice.
The attendants were not at all fond of their master, but in any case
they were so frightened of the strange and terrible creature on the
table that they did not dare to disobey.
So the wizard was tied to the table, and the Rainbow Cat took all
his wicked books and his pots and pans and the rest of his nasty
paraphernalia and threw them out of the window on to the ground below,
where they were burnt later on in a great bonfire.
By this time the news had spread all over the castle, and presently the
giantess came in, with the children trooping behind her.
The wizard had grown black in the face with rage; he knew that even if
he were set free he would be utterly powerless.
For he had lost all his magic books, and he was truly rather a stupid
wizard and could do absolutely nothing without them.
As a matter of fact the gentle giantess didn’t want him to be punished,
and in the end he was conducted to the borders of the country and
threatened with instant death if ever he returned. But that, of course,
was later.
You can imagine what excitement there was in the land when the Rainbow
Cat appeared the next day walking down the road from the castle with
the giantess by his side and all the children running in front, and the
wicked magician led behind in chains.
The Rainbow Cat, having finished his task, soon bade his friends
good-bye and set out once more on his travels.
The giantess made him a present of the gold ring which she wore on her
little finger. He would take nothing else. He wore it as a collar round
his neck, where it was always greatly admired.
She herself soon became a great favourite among the people of the
Bountiful Land. They loved her dearly and were very proud of her. But
she always had to be very careful not to sneeze or stamp.
People even came from other countries to see her, so that in the end it
grew quite embarrassing.
But, in time, a giant who had heard much of her beauty and gentleness
travelled all the way from Giant-land to visit her, and he married her
and took her away to his own home.
Her trousseau took some making, I can tell you!
All the women in the district sewed at it for six months--and even then
she was able to have only six of everything.
TEN
Almond Blossom
Long ago the leaves and blossoms of the almond-tree came out together
like those on other trees. But now the blossoms come out first. Shall I
tell you why?
One day in early spring the Fairy Queen was riding about the country.
“Oh, dear,” she said, “I’m so tired of this wintry weather. I wish the
flowers were out. And next week is my birthday”--the Fairy Queen, you
must know, has birthdays much oftener than ordinary people--“my first
spring birthday this year, and there are still only a few primroses and
violets. How I should love to see some pink flowers! I’m so fond of
pink.”
The little buds of the almond-tree heard her.
“Can’t we manage it?” they said to their mother, the tree. “Can’t we be
out in time for the Queen’s birthday next week?”
“You can try,” said their mother. “But what about your brothers, the
leaves? You know how lazy they are. And you can’t come out without
them. You _would_ look funny.”
The little pink buds did all they could. They caught every bit of
sunshine, they sucked up every drop of moisture, they grew and grew.
But their lazy brothers would not bestir themselves. They kept tight
folded in their winter jackets.
[Illustration]
“It’s too cold,” they said. “Br-r-r. Why should we hurry?” And so,
when the Queen’s birthday came, of course they were not ready, though
the pink blossoms were all waiting to burst into bloom. Presently the
Queen came riding through the forest on her white rabbit. The sun was
shining and the sky was blue. She halted under the almond-tree and
sighed a little.
“I’ve had some lovely presents,” she said. “A necklace of dewdrops from
the early morning, a blue velvet cloak from the night, and a basketful
of perfumed kisses from the south wind, who came such a long, long way
to bring them. I should be perfectly happy if only I had some pink
flowers.”
The buds of the almond blossom heard her and quivered with excitement.
They could wait no longer. With one accord they all burst forth into
full bloom. The scent of them was like the smell of honey.
The Queen looked up.
“Oh, you darlings,” she said. “You darlings. I’ll have my birthday
party under your tree. It will be the prettiest spring party I have
ever had.”
And ever since that day the pink blossoms have always come out in time
for the Queen’s first spring birthday without waiting for their lazy
little brothers. And every year the fairies hold their earliest revels
under the blossoming boughs of the almond-tree.
ELEVEN
The Rondel
There was once a princess who dwelt in a castle in the midst of a great
park. She lived hidden away from the world in her quiet home and was
scarcely ever seen by strangers.
Rumours of her charm and loveliness, and of her wonderful golden hair,
spread far and wide over the land, and she was always known and spoken
of as Princess Golden-bright. But her real name was Gentle.
All round the castle were lovely pleasure-gardens in which were
gay flower-beds and slender, dancing fountains. But the princess’s
favourite spot was a circle of ash-trees which stood in the park some
small distance away from the castle on a little grassy hill with a path
leading up to it.
It was called the Rondel.
In the middle of the circle of trees stood a table with a seat running
round it; the ground was carpeted with soft moss, and the tree-trunks
stood up straight and tall like marble pillars.
The princess loved nothing better than to sit in the Rondel in the warm
weather with her books and embroidery.
It was like being in a little house with a high green roof to it.
Moreover it was a fairy place, and the ash-trees would often tell her
the most delightful stories of what was going on outside the walls of
the park, for they were so tall that they could see a long way.
They learnt many things, too, from the birds, who loved to perch
among their branches and to chatter away to one another about their
adventures in the big world.