The rocket continued to send out fiery sparks of burning powder as it
plunged higher and higher into the black vault of the heavens; but few
of these came in contact with John Dough, who clung to the far side
of the stick and so escaped being seriously damaged. Also the rocket
curved, and presently sped miles away over land and sea, impelled by
the terrible force of the powder it contained. John fully expected that
it would burst presently, and blow him to bits amid a cloud of colored
stars. But the giant rocket was not made in the same way as the other
and smaller ones that had been fired, the intention being merely to
make it go as high and as far as possible. So it finally burned itself
out; but so great was the speed it had attained that it continued to
fly for many minutes after the last spark had died away.
Then the rocket began to take a downward course; but it was so high
up, by that time, that the stick and the empty shell flew onward hour
after hour, gradually nearing the ground, until finally, just as a
new day began to break, the huge stick, with John Dough still holding
fast to its end, fell lightly upon an island washed on all sides by the
waves of a mighty sea.
John fell on a soft bush, and thence bounded to the ground, where for a
time he lay quite still and tried to recover his thoughts.
He had not done much thinking, it seems, while he was in the air. The
rush of wind past his ears had dazed him, and he only realized he must
cling fast to the stick and await what might happen. Indeed, that was
the only thing to be done in such an emergency.
[Illustration]
The shock of the fall had for a moment dazed the gingerbread man; and
as he lay upon the ground he heard a voice cry:
"Get off from me! Will you? Get off, I say."
John rolled over and sat up, and then another person--a little man
with a large head--also sat up and faced him.
"What do you mean by it?" asked the little man, glaring upon John Dough
angrily. "Can't you see where you're falling?"
"No," answered John.
It was growing lighter every minute, and the gray mists of morning were
fading away before the rising sun. John looked around him and saw he
was upon a broad, sandy beach which the waves of a great sea lapped
peacefully. Behind was a green meadow, and then mountains that rose
high into the air.
"How did you happen to be where I fell?" he asked, turning to the
little man again.
"I always sleep on the sands," replied the other, wagging his head
solemnly. "It's my fad. Fresh air, you know. I'm called the 'Fresh-Air
Fiend.' I suppose you're a new inhabitant. You seem rather queer."
"I'm made of gingerbread," said John.
"Well, that certainly is unusual, so I've no doubt you will be warmly
welcomed in our Island," replied the man.
"But where am I?" asked John, looking around again with a puzzled
expression.
"This is the Isle of Phreex," answered the other, "and it is inhabited
by unusual people. I'm one, and you're another."
He made such a droll face as he said this that the gingerbread man
could not resist smiling, but it startled him to hear another laugh
at his back--a sound merry and sweet, such as a bird trills. He swung
around quickly and saw a child standing upon the sands, where the rays
of the sun fell brightly upon its little form. And then the glass eyes
of the gingerbread man grew big, and stood out from his cake face in a
way that fully expressed his astonishment.
"It's a Vision!" he exclaimed.
"No, it's the Cherub--whom we call Chick," answered the big-headed man,
carelessly.
The child had fair hair, falling in fleecy waves to its shoulders,
but more or less tangled and neglected. It had delicate features,
rosy cheeks, and round blue eyes. When these eyes were grave--which
was seldom--there were questions in them; when they smiled--which was
often--sunbeams rippled over their blue surfaces. For clothing the
child wore garments of pure white, which reached from the neck to
the ankles, and had wide flowing sleeves and legs, like those of a
youngster's pajamas. The little one's head and feet were bare, but
the pink soles were protected by sandals fastened with straps across
the toes and ankles.
[Illustration: "IT'S THE CHERUB"]
"Good morning," said John, again smiling and hoping he had not stared
too rudely. "It gives me great pleasure to meet you."
"My name's Chick," replied the child, laughing in sweet trills, while
the blue eyes regarded the gingerbread man with evident wonder.
"That's a funny name," said John.
"Yes, it _is_ funny," the child agreed, with a friendly nod. "Chick
means a chicken, you know. But I'm not a chicken."
"Of course not," returned John. "A chicken is covered with feathers.
And you are not."
[Illustration]
At this Chick laughed merrily, and said, as if it were the simplest
thing in the world: "I'm the Incubator Baby, you know."
"Dear me, I hadn't the least idea of it," John answered gravely. "May I
ask what an Incubator Baby is?"
The child squatted down in the sand, hugged its chubby knees, and
uttered peal after peal of joyous laughter.
"How funny!" it gurgled; "how funny that you don't know what the
Incubator Baby is! Really, you must be fresh-baked!"
"I am," said John, feeling rather ashamed to acknowledge the fact, but
resolving to be truthful.
"Then, of course, you are very ignorant," remarked the Fresh-Air Fiend,
rubbing his big head complacently.
"Oh, as for that," said John, "I acquired, in course of manufacture, a
vast deal of ancient learning, which I got from an Arabian Elixir with
which the baker mixed me. I am well posted in all events down to the
last century, but I cannot recall any knowledge of an Incubator Baby."
"No, they're a recent invention," declared the big-headed man, patting
tenderly the child's golden curls. "Were you, by any chance, at the
Pan-American Exposition? Or the Louisiana Purchase Exposition?"
"No," answered John. "My knowledge was corked up about then."
"Well," continued the man, "there were a good many Incubator Babies at
both those expositions, and lots of people saw them. But Chick is the
first and only Original Incubator Baby, and so Chick properly belongs
in the Isle of Phreex."
Chick jumped up, made a stiff bow, and with eyes sparkling with
mischief exclaimed: "I'm six years old and quite strong and well."
"Tut-tut, Chick!" remonstrated the big-headed man; "it was more than
two years ago you were taught to make that speech. You can't be always
six years old, you know."
The little sprite enjoyed the joke so much that John was forced to
laugh in sympathy. But just then a thought struck him, and he asked, a
little nervously:
"Do you like gingerbread?"
"I don't know," replied Chick. "Are you gingerbread?"
"I am," said John, bravely.
"Then I like gingerbread," the child declared; "for you smell sweet and
look kind and gentle."
John didn't know whether to accept this as a compliment or not. He was
sorry to learn that he smelled sweet, although to be called kind and
gentle was grateful praise.
"Some folks," he remarked, timidly, "have an idea they like to _eat_
gingerbread."
"I couldn't eat you," the child said, seriously, "because, being the
Incubator Baby, I have to be very careful of my diet. You might not
agree with me."
"I'm sure I couldn't agree with any one who ate me," John declared.
"For, although as yet I have had no experience of that sort, it seems
to me a very undesirable fate."
"Very true," remarked the big-headed man.
"Let's be friends!" exclaimed Chick, coming close to John and taking
his soft brown hand in a firm clasp. "I'll take care of you."
John looked down at the merry little elf in positive wonder.
"We'll be friends, all right," said he; "but instead of your taking
care of me, Chick, I'll take care of you."
"Oh, there you are entirely wrong," broke in the big-headed man.
"Chick's a privileged character in the Isle of Phreex, and the only one
of us who dares defy our awful kinglet. And in case of danger--"
"Danger!" cried John, with a start. "Is there danger here, too?"
Chick's laughter rang out at the foolish question, but the man replied
seriously:
"There is danger everywhere, to those who are unusual, and especially
in the Isle of Phreex, where we are at the mercy of a horrid kinglet.
But come; we must go and report your arrival to that same graceless
ruler, or we shall all be punished."
"Very well," said John, meekly.
But as he took Chick's hand and turned to depart the Fresh-Air Fiend
uttered an exclamation of annoyance, and said:
"Here's bad luck already! The Failings are coming this way."
As he spoke a noise of shouting and chattering reached their ears, and
presently several people came around a corner of rock and stood before
John and his newly found friends.
"It's the Brotherhood of Failings," whispered the big-headed man. "Look
out for them, or they'll do you a mischief."
"Don't worry; I'll take care of you," said Chick, pressing the dough
hand.
John stared at the new-comers, and they returned the compliment by
staring at him. A queerer lot of folks could seldom have been seen
together.
[Illustration: THE BROTHERHOOD OF FAILINGS]
"This is the Blunderer," said the Fresh-Air Fiend, indicating a short,
fat man who was clothed in glittering armor and bore a lance over his
shoulder. The Blunderer acknowledged the introduction by bowing. "And
here is the Thoughtless One," continued the man, pointing to a tall,
lean man who was clothed in chamois-leather and carried a wide-mouthed
blunderbuss under his arm.
"Look out for the gun," said Chick; "he never knows whether or not it
is loaded."
"And here are the Disagreeable, and the Unlucky, and the Sorrowful, and
the Ugly, and the Awkward," continued the big-headed man, pointing out
each Failing in turn. "Their peculiarities you will have no trouble
to discover. Indeed, on all the Isle of Phreex, there is no one more
unpleasant to meet with than this same lot of Failings."
At this the Brothers all bowed, saying at the same time:
"We are proud of ourselves!"
At that instant the Awkward tripped over his own toes and fell against
the Blunderer, who tumbled headlong and thrust his slim lance straight
through the body of John Dough.
"Oh!" cried Chick, greatly horrified.
"I told you so!" growled the Fresh-Air Fiend, pulling out the lance
hastily. "Tell me, John Dough, are you dead, or are you just dying?"
"Neither one," said John, ruefully pushing together the hole that
the lance had made; "but it doesn't add to my personal appearance to
be prodded in that fashion. I'm made of gingerbread," he explained,
turning to the man in armor.
"I beg your pardon! I really beg your pardon!" said the Blunderer,
greatly distressed at what he had done. "I had no intention of hurting
you."
"He means well," said the Incubator Baby; "but that doesn't help much."
"He won't last long in this Island," grunted the Bad-Tempered,
referring to John Dough.
"Being made of gingerbread, he can't be expected to last," remarked the
Disagreeable, smiling in a way that made John shudder.
"He shall have my protection," said the Blunderer. "It's the least I
can do to make amends. Here--put on this armour!"
He hastily began stripping off the plates of metal, and placed the
steel helmet over the head of the gingerbread man.
"No, no!" exclaimed John. "I don't want to wear all that hardware."
"But you must!" cried the Blunderer. "It's the only way you can escape
accident in this awful Island."
"That's true enough," agreed the big-headed man. "I advise you to wear
the armor, my gingerbread friend."
So John submitted to being dressed in the armor, and no sooner had the
plates been strapped upon him than the wisdom of the act was apparent.
For there came a rush and whirl of sound, and suddenly a great monster
swept over the sands at the very spot where they stood. It sent the
Brotherhood of Failings sprawling in every direction, while the
Incubator Baby flew to the water's edge, and John Dough's armor-clad
body was knocked down and pressed into the soft sand until it was level
with the surface.
[Illustration]
But presently Chick came back and made the others dig him out and set
him upon his feet again, and then it was seen that no one had been
seriously injured.
"What was it?" asked John, gazing in amazement at the place where the
monster had disappeared in the distance.
"It's the one-wheeled automobile," answered the Sorrowful, "and unless
it gets smashed mighty soon the Isle of Phreex will be an Isle of
Cripples. I don't understand why they license the thing."
"Why, to make room for new arrivals, of course," declared the
Disagreeable. "But it was lucky for the Pudding Man that he happened to
be dressed in steel."
"I am not pudding, if you please," said John, indignantly. "I beg you
to remember that I am gingerbread."
"It's all one," remarked the Thoughtless, "your cake is dough, anyhow."
"Let us return to the castle," the Ugly said. "Our kinglet should be
introduced to his new subject."
So they all started off across the green, Chick leading the gingerbread
man, until they came to a path leading upward through the rocks, along
which they began to ascend. John had much difficulty in keeping out of
the way of the Awkward, who tripped and stumbled constantly, while the
Blunderer insisted upon taking the wrong path, and the Bad-Tempered
stopped twice to fight with the Disagreeable and the Thoughtless. At
last, however, they reached the top, which proved to be a broad plain
of rock, upon which stood a great castle with many tall spires and grim
towers and glittering minarets.
While they paused for John Dough to admire the view, and that they all
might get breath, a sharp voice said near them:
"You're late, you lot of Failings, and the kinglet will scold."
John looked around, and saw perched upon a point of rock beside the
path a most curious looking creature.
"Don't stare!" it said, with a laugh. "_I_ don't, and I've got a dozen
eyes to your one. Let me introduce myself. I'm the Prize Potato from
the Centerville Fair."
Indeed, John now noticed a big blue ribbon twined around the middle
of the potato, and on the ribbon was printed in gold letters: "First
Prize."
[Illustration]
"Some day you'll sprout," said the Disagreeable, "and then you won't
have so many eyes."
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF PHREEX]
The Prize Potato winked its numerous eyes, one after the other, in a
droll fashion, and answered:
"Some day you'll meet with an accident, my dear Failing; but when
you're planted in the ground you'll not sprout at all. That's where I'm
your superior, for I'm perpetual. Every one of my eyes is good for a
half-peck of potatoes, at least."
"Unless you're boiled with your jacket on," remarked the Ugly, with a
sour smile.
"Come, come! Let us on," interrupted the little man with the big head.
"Our kinglet doubtless awaits us."
When they had gone a few steps farther the Incubator Baby paused to
say: "Some one is following us, and it's a stranger."
This remark caused John to look around, and immediately he stopped
short with an expression of horror upon his frosted face. For there,
turning the corner of the rocky path, was Ali Dubh the Arab. The fellow
at once uttered a yell of joy and triumph, and drawing his gleaming
knife he rushed upon John Dough with great eagerness.
The gingerbread man had given up all hope of escape and stood
tremblingly awaiting his foe when, Chick suddenly grasped the
Blunderer's lance and tripped the Arab so neatly with it that Ali Dubh
fell his full length upon the path and broke his knife-blade into a
dozen pieces. But he squirmed forward and was about to bite into John's
leg when the big-headed man came to the rescue and threw a handful of
pebbles into the Arab's open mouth, and so prevented him from doing the
gingerbread man any damage.
[Illustration]
"He seems dangerous," remarked the Blunderer. "Let's tie him up, before
he hurts someone."
So while the Arab was coughing the pebbles out of his mouth, the
Brotherhood of Failings bound his hands and feet with strong cords, so
that he could not move.
"He's mine!" shouted the Arab, as soon as he could speak. "He belongs
to me. I claim him for my own."
"There's no harm in that," replied the Fresh-Air Fiend. "But one of the
laws of this Isle is that no person shall be injured by any one except
the kinglet. And every one here must obey the laws. So, unless you
promise not to carve or to eat this man of gingerbread, who is now a
subject of our kinglet, we must lock you up in prison."
"I'll eat him as soon as I have the chance. I have a right to do so,"
cried the Arab.
"You're a bad man!" said Chick, stamping one small foot indignantly.
"I'm not," answered Ali Dubh; "I'm a good man. And I paid Jules
Grogrande fifty cents for this gingerbread imitation of a man, who is
mixed with my own magic Elixir. Also I paid a witch nine dollars to
transport me to wherever the gingerbread man might be--which is right
here--that I might take possession of my own property. So I've got him,
and he's paid for, and he's mine, and I claim the right to eat him
whenever I please."
"You'll do no such thing," declared Chick. "Why, John Dough is alive,
and no one has a right to make him dead and then eat him--even if he
_is_ paid for!"
[Illustration]
"Don't worry, my Cherub," said the big-headed man, soothingly; "we'll
go at once and lock this Arab in a strong room of the castle, so that
he can't possibly escape."
Chick smiled sweetly at this promise; but the Arab scowled and said,
grimly:
"Never mind. My time will come. Some day I shall surely eat that
gingerbread man, in spite of this Cherub and all the rest of you."
This defiance made the Brotherhood of Failings and the big-headed man
so angry that they at once dragged Ali Dubh away to the castle, and
John Dough and Chick followed after, hand in hand, and feeling quite
safe.
Presently they came to a great archway that led into the courtyard
of the castle. Having passed through this arch, the gingerbread
man saw groups of the most astonishing people, who were busying
themselves over extraordinary tasks, such as building machines, boiling
strange-smelling chemicals in queer pots, drawing curious designs,
and like occupations. A sudden crash announced that the Blunderer had
fallen into the middle of a delicate machine and smashed it into bits.
Before they could pull him out the Unlucky One ran against the whirling
arm of a windmill and was tossed half-way across the courtyard, while
the Awkward One upset a boiling kettle and set every one to coughing
who inhaled the odor of the compound that was spilled upon the ground.
To John's surprise no one seemed much worried over these accidents.
Even the victims joined in Chick's merry laughter, and those of the
Failings who had escaped disaster calmly proceeded to lock up the Arab
in a cell that had a strong iron grating for a door, and fastened with
a huge padlock.
Afterward they all entered through a second arch into the great hall of
the castle.
This was a long, wide room with a tiled floor, and walls that were
covered with many trophies, such as armor, spears, battle-axes, and
swords of ancient design.
At the farther end was a raised platform upon which stood a gorgeous
throne. Back of the throne was an electric sign, flashing one letter at
a time, and reading: "What is Home without a kinglet?" Over the throne
was suspended an enormous crown--big enough for a giant--which sparkled
with gems. Beside the throne a very fat man sat in a chair so low that
his knees nearly touched his chin. He wore a short red coat, a wide
white vest, and blue knee-breeches, and all were embroidered in gold.
The fat man's eyes were closed and he seemed asleep.
Within the throne sat the kinglet, propped upon purple cushions, so
that he would fit it better. For the kinglet was a small boy with a
long, freckled face, blue eyes, a pug nose, and black hair banged
across his forehead, and hanging in lank, straight locks far down over
his shoulders. He wore an ermine cloak lined with purple, and bore
in his hand a sceptre with a jewelled ball at one end, while beyond
the ball projected a small golden knob. The kinglet's slim legs were
crossed under him like those of a Turk, and he seemed very frail and
delicate.
However, when the Failings and the Fresh-Air Fiend and Chick and John
Dough entered, the kinglet's brow was puckered into a frown, and his
blue eyes fairly flashed fire.
"Odds Zooks!" he cried, as they all knelt before the throne, "why have
you dared to wait until this hour to pay me your devoirs?"
Then he leaned down and prodded the fat man with the knob of his
sceptre, so that the sleeper started and opened his eyes. "Is that
right, Nebbie? Is 'devoir' a kingly word?" he demanded.
"Absolutely kingly, your Majesty," said the fat man, yawning. "It was
used by King Arthur and Richard Coeur de Leon."
"Very well!" said the kinglet, proudly. Then he turned again to the
kneeling group before him. "Why don't you answer me?" he exclaimed.
"Why are you so late in paying me your boudoirs?"
[Illustration: THE KINGLET AND NEBBIE]
"Devoirs, your Majesty!" said the fat man, hastily.
"I said 'devoirs'!" returned the kinglet, turning upon him in anger.
"We are late because we did not get here sooner," said the Awkward;
"and we could not get here sooner because we were late."
"So!" shrieked his Majesty, with blazing eyes. "Now by my halidom--" he
paused suddenly, and turned to the fat man, prodding him so fiercely
that he jumped several feet into the air. "Is 'halidom' the right word,
Nebbie?"
"Sure," said the fat man, nodding emphatically.
"What does it mean?" asked the kinglet.
"What does halidom mean?"
"Yes."
"Why, a halidom is a halidom," said the fat man, thoughtfully; "and
belongs to kings."
"But what _is_ it?" persisted the kinglet, impatiently.
"It's a--a--a sort of a royal prerogative, and is usually painted red,"
returned the fat man, and immediately resumed his seat and closed his
eyes again.
The kinglet sighed, and turned anew to the Failings.
"Let me see," he remarked; "where was I?"
"You were by your halidom, your Majesty," suggested the Blunderer.
"Oh, yes." Again the long freckled face took on a frown. "By my
halidom, churl--" He stopped to glance at the fat man.
"Churl is all right," mumbled Nebbie, without opening his eyes.
"By my halidom, churl, you shall either swallow my sceptre or die the
death!"
"What death?" asked the Blunderer, trembling.
"The one that makes people dead," replied the kinglet, sternly.
"Choose, then, varlet--" ("Varlet is good," said Nebbie, quickly, to
avoid a thrust) "whether to swallow my sceptre or die the death!"
The Blunderer glanced at the sceptre, the jewelled ball of which was
nearly as large as his head.
"I'll swallow the sceptre," he said.
"Good," cried the kinglet, and held it toward him.
"But not now," added the Blunderer, hastily; "I'll take my time about
it. You didn't say when, you know."
The kinglet turned red with rage.
"Now, by the royal Juggernaut of Jowl--" he began.
"If I should swallow it now," continued the Blunderer, calmly, "you
would cease to be a kinglet; for a kinglet without a sceptre is nothing
but a flibberjig."
"What!" shrieked his Majesty, jabbing the fat man furiously.
"That's right," declared Nebbie, groaning and rubbing his fat side
dolefully. "A kinglet without a sceptre is a flibberjig, and I'll be
black and blue by to-morrow morning!"
"Well," said his Majesty, after considering the matter, "I forbid you,
Sir Blunderer, to swallow my sceptre until I give you leave."
Then his eye fell upon John Dough and Chick, who were standing at
one side of the Failings, and immediately the little kinglet looked
surprised, and then curious, and then annoyed. But perhaps the annoyed
look was because Chick laughed in the royal face in a way that was
certainly disrespectful, and even John Dough didn't look at all humble.
"Here, you Chick; behave yourself," commanded the kinglet.
"I won't," said Chick, pouting two pretty lips.
"Well, this kingdom existed at one time without an Incubator Baby, and
I believe we could spare you now. I'll have your saucy head cut off,"
declared the kinglet.
"I dare you!" said Chick, making a face.
"There's a nice child, I must say!" retorted the kinglet, scowling.
"But what can we expect of a baby that has no parents and no proper
bringing-up? Bah! I'm ashamed of you, Chick!"
[Illustration]
"Don't you dare say anything against my Incubator!" cried Chick,
angrily. "I guess I've had as good bringing-up as you have, you
disagreeable kinglet, you!"
His Majesty was at first about to retort with equal anger; but he
suddenly changed his mind and turned to John Dough.
"Who are you, stranger?" he asked. "And why are you wearing the
Blunderer's armor?"
So much disrespect had been shown this kinglet by his subjects that
John was about to reply lightly to these questions; but to his surprise
Chick grasped his hand and whispered to him to make a low bow and to
be very careful what he said. So the gingerbread man stepped forward
and addressed his Majesty with great ceremony.
"Oh, most puissant and serene kinglet!" he began; "I am called John
Dough, because I am made of gingerbread; and I came to your Isle
because I could not help it."
The kinglet looked upon the stranger with a kindly expression.
"'Puissant and serene'!" he murmured. "Evidently, John Dough, you are a
person of wit and intelligence, such as are most welcome to the Isle of
Phreex. Kneel thou at my feet."
[Illustration]
John knelt, as commanded, and the kinglet at once dealt him a sharp
blow upon the Blunderer's helmet with the heavy end of the royal
sceptre. It dented in the steel plate, and would have crushed the
gingerbread man's head had it not been so well protected by the helmet.
"I dub you Knight of Phreex," said his Majesty. "Rise, Sir John
Dough--villain no longer, but noble and favored among my subjects!"
John stood up and bowed, although he was slightly dazed by the force of
the blow.
"Long live the gentle Kinglet of Phreex," he managed to say. And Chick
clapped two chubby hands with glee, and whispered: "Well done, my
friend!"
"You please me, Sir John," remarked the little kinglet, swelling out
his chest complacently. "I wish all the people of Phreex were so polite
and discerning." Then he looked around and inquired: "Where's Sir
Austed Alfrin, the Poet Laureate?"
Immediately a drapery parted, and a man with a pale, thin face and long
black hair entered and saluted his Majesty with profound respect. The
Poet had a bandage over one eye and hobbled as if lame in one leg. He
was clothed all in black, and his long frock coat had grease spots down
the front of it.
"Have you made me a sonnet to-day?" demanded the little kinglet.
"Yes, my royal Master," answered the Poet; and, pompously unrolling a
scroll, he read in a loud, falsetto voice, these lines:
"There is a wise Kinglet of Phreex,
Whose wit is so great that it leaks;
His brain isn't big,
But who cares a fig
While wisdom from him fairly reeks?"
[Illustration]
"Now, that's not so bad," said his Majesty, reflectively. "But can't
you make it a little stronger, Sir Poet?"
"I'll try," replied Austed Alfrin; and after pencilling some words on
his tablets he read as follows:
"The Goddess of Wisdom felt sad;
And when asked why she whimpered so bad,
Said: 'There's one, it is true,
Who knows more than _I_ do--
And the Kinglet of Phreex is the lad!'"
"Now that," said his Majesty, "strikes me as being real poetry. How does
it strike you, Sir John Dough?"
"It's fairly good," replied the gingerbread man; "but it hardly does
you justice."
"The Poet doesn't dare do his Majesty justice," said the Disagreeable
Failing. "If he did, there would soon be no Poet."
"There's something in that, too," said the kinglet. "But now, Sir
Austed, write me a sonnet on my new subject, Sir John Dough."
The Poet sighed and began writing on his tablets; and presently he read
this:
"The Kinglet of Phreex, it is said,
Has a Knight made of stale gingerbread;
We could eat him, but yet
The dyspepsia we'd get
Would soon make us wish we were dead."
"That," said John, indignantly, "is rank libel; and if your Majesty
will loan me your sceptre, I'll make an end of this Poet in seven
seconds by the clock."
"You have my permission to make mince-meat of him," replied the
kinglet, cheerfully.
"Mercy! mercy, my lord!" screamed the Poet, falling upon his knees
before John and hastily wiping the verse off his tablets, "give me one
more chance, I beg of you!"
"Very well," said the gingerbread knight. "But if it's no better than
the last you shall be discharged. Is it not so, your Majesty?"
"Quite so," laughed the kinglet.
The Poet nervously scribbled another set of lines, which he read in a
voice that trembled with fear:
"The Gingerbread Man is so sweet,
To eat him would be a rare treat;
He's crisp and well spiced,
And you'd find, were he sliced,
That the eggs in him cannot be beat!"
"That's better," said John, "but I'm not sure about the eggs, as I did
not pay much attention when I was mixed. However, this sincere tribute
to my excellence will save you from my displeasure, and you may go
free."
The Poet did not wait an instant, but ran from the hall as fast as his
legs would carry him.
The kinglet now dismissed the Failings, who left the royal presence
quarrelling and threatening one another, and making so much noise and
uproar that the gingerbread man was glad to see them go.
"Aren't they nice?" asked the kinglet, looking after them. "I'd like
to drown them all in the castle moat, like kittens; but every kinglet,
they say, has his Failings, so I suppose I must keep mine."
He sighed, and continued: "But what did the Poet's sonnet say about
your being crisp and well spiced, and rather good eating were you
sliced?"
"Don't pay any attention to that, your Majesty!" said John, hastily.
"But why not?" persisted the kinglet. "I declare, Sir John, there's
something about you that makes me hungry whenever I look at you. I
don't remember having eaten any gingerbread since I was a boy--ahem!--I
mean since I came to rule over the Isle of Phreex. Ho there, my guards!
Fetch me a knife!"
John was now trembling with terror; but Chick said to the kinglet:
"Your Majesty forgets that you are to have pancakes and maple-syrup
for tea. What's the use of spoiling your appetite, when you know the
gingerbread man will keep good for weeks?"
"Are you sure?" asked the kinglet, anxiously. "Are you sure he'll keep?
Won't he get stale?"
"Of course not," answered the child. "He's the kind of gingerbread that
always keeps good. And you mustn't forget he'll be a credit to the
Isle of Phreex; for whoever saw a live gingerbread man before?"
"Nobody," declared the kinglet, positively. "You're right, my Cherub;
I'll save the gingerbread man for another meal, and in the meantime I
can show him off before my people. We pride ourselves, Sir John, on
having a greater variety of queer personages than any other kingdom in
existence."
"Then you ought to be careful of them, and not permit them to be
eaten," said John, still anxious. But the kinglet did not seem to hear
him.
"Pancakes and maple-syrup!" muttered his Majesty, longingly. "Dear me,
Chick; I wish tea were ready now."
"So do I," said Chick, laughing; for John Dough was safe from being
eaten just then, whatever might be his future fate, and the child had
saved him by the mention of the cakes and syrup.
But now a sudden hubbub was heard at the door, and in rushed a number
of the royal guard wheeling a big platform on which was seated a woman
so exceedingly fat that she appeared to be much wider than she was long.
"Here! what's the trouble with Bebe Celeste?" asked the kinglet,
frowning.
[Illustration: BÉBÉ CELESTE]
"She has lost two ounces, your Majesty," puffed one of the guards,
wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his coat sleeve.
"Two ounces!" shouted the kinglet. "Now, by the toga of Samson--by
the way, Nebbie, did Samson wear a toga?" He punched the fat man so
severely that Nebbie gave a roar of pain before he answered.
"He wore several, your Majesty!"
"Then, by the several togas of Samson, Bebe Celeste, how dare you come
before me two ounces shy?"
"I didn't come; I was brought," said the fat woman, in a wheezy voice.
"She was weighed in the balance and found wanting," said the guardsman.
"What was she wanting?" asked the kinglet.
"Two ounces, your Majesty."
The ruler rubbed his pug nose with one finger, in a reflective manner.
"Bebe," said he, "you've been exercising again. You're trying to
reduce!"