Cheers and Butter
You would have followed the Snoodle, too, if he had wagged himself at
you in that delightful, insinuating fashion, rolled over and over
across your foot, and then gone frisking down the path, looking back
beguilingly over his shoulder.
So of course Sara did, as soon as she had properly disposed of her
dimples. She went skipping along so eagerly that she did not notice
that it was an entirely different path--neither pink nor curly--until
she had gone through a new arch in the hedge and found herself in the
meadow, with the Equine Gahoppigas, all saddled and bridled, waiting
for her.
She had known from the first, just from his general expression, that
the Snoodle was going to lead her to something interesting; but she
was not prepared for this.
It was clear, of course, that she was expected to ride the creature;
but what it was she could not at first make out. It was about the size
of a large hobby-horse, and, in respect to its beautiful, wavy mane
and tail, much resembled it. Otherwise, it was exactly like a
grasshopper. And it was rearing and snorting in a most alarming
manner. As Sara stood considering, however, she caught a backward look
out of its wild eyes that said, "Oh, come on; it's all a joke."
So Sara took her seat in the saddle. Just as she gathered up the reins
the Snoodle leaped up behind her--exactly as the trained dog in the
circus leaps up behind the monkey on the big Newfoundland. (Only,
don't fall into the error of thinking that the Snoodle was a dog; you
remember his mother was a snail.)
It was a novel and exhilarating sensation to Sara (that means the way
you feel when you shoot the chutes at the Park) to go bounding through
the sunny air on the back of the Gahoppigas. The soft wind whistled
through her hair, and blew past her so strongly that she was not even
conscious of the Snoodle's drawback, though he sat so close to her. At
the end of every leap the Gahoppigas rested for an instant upon a
daisy head, and Sara saw that the heads of these daisies were as big
as her own.
Now, though Sara was really a nice child, there were two things she
had always been rather greedy about: and they were flowers and
butterflies. She had often wished, of a spring morning, wandering
along her own garden paths, and gazing at the velvety brightness of
the daisies, and the marvelous patterns of the butterflies who
uncoiled their long tongues above them, that she might some day
discover a meadow full of flowers as large as moons, perpetually
fluttered over by butterflies as big as peacocks! Here, at last, were
just such flowers; and since the grasshoppers were as large as
hobby-horses--no, it was not a grasshopper, it was an Equine
Gahoppigas! Still, it was more like a grasshopper than anything else
she had ever seen.
You must not be surprised that Sara's thoughts were quite jerky and
disconnected, for she had never before traversed a meadow in soaring
leaps, with only a minute now and then to take breath--and even that
minute spent among the flying yellow hair of a swaying daisy. Still,
all through the enjoyment and excitement, she managed to keep tight
hold of one wish--if only there would be butterflies as big as
peacocks!
Well, there were, of course; on that side of the ivory doors you
cannot wish for anything as hard as Sara did without getting your
wish. To be sure, they must have been there long before Sara wished;
for the Butterfly Country on which Sara now rested her astonished eyes
had the look of a long-settled community. I need not tell you that it
was so beautiful it fairly took your breath: you would know that it
had to be, with those great flowers nodding everywhere, and those
great gay wings drifting, and sailing, and soaring, and zigzagging,
and crossing over them. But, all of a sudden, Sara made a discovery
that stopped her heart in a breath. In a country where the butterflies
were as big as peacocks, the caterpillars were as big as
boa-constrictors! Sara didn't know the exact size of a boa-constrictor,
having met them only in her Geography: but surely they couldn't be any
bigger than these! Certainly they were big enough to swallow her as
easily as the big black snake Jimmy had killed swallowed the egg.
Now, if you can imagine a country inhabited by sea-serpents, of bright
green and brown and pink and yellow, with all kinds of assorted horns
and knobs and prickles, you can imagine what Sara saw as the
Gahoppigas took its last flying leap and alighted on a flaming
marigold at the foot of the palace-steps. Well, of course you would
have to imagine the palace, too; and part of it would be quite hard to
imagine. It was a gorgeous place, of a beautiful amber color, and was
built of solid blocks of honey-comb,--which, however, had been treated
by the builders so that they had a hard glaze, to prevent the wings
and feet of the butterflies from sticking when they touched the walls.
The roof was a woven affair, very cunningly made so that the top
surface was a sort of thatch of flower-stems, while the ceiling was a
solid sheet of flowers. Of course, in this climate, they were always
fresh. The butterflies had their beds on the ceiling; indeed, as Sara
arrived rather early, a few roistering young blades who had been out
late the night before were still hanging with closed wings from the
roof, fast asleep.
Sara could see all this through the open door, which was made of an
enameled lily-pad (extra-size, like the other things in this luscious
place). But the thing that startled her most, and that you would have
found it most difficult to imagine, was the strange way in which the
roof was supported.
A very elegant butterfly, who seemed to be an officer in uniform, was
standing on his hind legs at the right of the entrance. His waist was
very slim, his wings were very rich, and he was curling and uncurling
his proboscis languidly. Sara slid off the Gahoppigas and approached
as near as she dared.
At that moment a little gong sounded somewhere (like a temple-gong in
a Japanese fairy-story) and the Butterfly-Officer straightened up and
called out in a sharp, military voice, "Shift Three!"
Instantly the caterpillars that were supporting the roof began
wriggling out from under it, and a new relay that appeared as if by
magic began taking their places, planting their tails firmly on the
floor and adjusting their heads against the ceiling, and pressing
upward by making their long bodies very stiff and straight. Of course
they did not all do it at once, or the roof would have floated off
into the sky; on the other hand, they relieved each other a few at a
time, with admirable precision and with no disorder whatever, as if
they had had long drill in this complicated manoeuvre.
The caterpillars who had been relieved seemed to be very much relieved
indeed; they stretched out their long, cramped bodies luxuriously, and
went lumbering off together by twos and threes, with their hands in
their pockets. Sara started to follow a bristly comma-caterpillar who
went off alone, but he was so big that she just couldn't make up her
mind so do it. She had once fed one for three weeks in a fruit jar,
and she knew that kind couldn't hurt her--still-- She felt she was
just compelled to talk to somebody; but she believed she would rather
try the Butterfly-Officer who was on duty at the entrance. He looked
bored and supercilious, but his wings were beautiful.
She drew near after a while and said, as pleasantly as she could,
"Good-morning!"
"Yes," said the officer, without looking around.
Sara was a little taken aback, but he looked so conceited, as he stood
there coiling and uncoiling his watch-spring tongue, that she suddenly
felt herself growing quite provoked.
"That isn't the right answer," she said.
The Butterfly-Officer turned his lazy eyes and looked her over for
some time without speaking.
"You said it was a good morning, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And I agreed, didn't I?"
"Yes," said Sara.
"Well, then," said the Butterfly-Officer, turning away and beginning
to coil and uncoil his spring.
This was not a very promising beginning. Sara would never learn
anything at this rate. She must be more direct.
"Whose palace is this?" she asked.
"The Monarch's."
"Might--might I go in?"
"Certainly."
What a baffling person! He agreed to anything, apparently, and yet one
never learned anything. Sara wandered past him, presently, quite
subdued by his elegant scorn.
She strayed on into the palace. She was speechless with
admiration--even if there had been anybody to talk to. There were
numbers of courtiers and ladies-in-waiting about, but nobody seemed in
the least surprised to see her, and they all seemed too languid to
talk. Sara heard them exchange a word occasionally, but for the most
part they simply stood about, fanning themselves and coiling and
uncoiling their springs. Never, however, had Sara seen such sumptuous
costumes. Such court-trains, and velvet breeches, and rainbow-colored
cloaks!
Presently, since nobody seemed to mind, Sara wandered straight into
the throne-room; and there sat the Monarch dozing on his throne, while
fourteen courtiers took turns in fanning him with their wings. At
Sara's entrance, however, he awoke with a start; and Sara was terribly
startled herself, because it was the first time anybody had really
taken any notice of her.
"Bring her some butter!" he commanded.
At his command four of the courtiers drifted away, and presently
returned carrying a silvery-white cloth, very rich and lustrous, woven
of many thicknesses of milk-weed-silk. This they spread on the
green-tiled floor in a corner of the throne-room, near a little
fountain that trickled continually a sort of silver-colored syrup,
which made a drowsy sound as it fell. Then they flew away again, and
after a good while returned carrying a pat of butter in a large
magnolia petal. The magnolia petal was about the size of Mother's best
turkey-platter, and as white and fragrant as the magnolias at home.
And the pat of butter was about as large as a veal loaf. Of course it
did not look in the least like a veal loaf; it looked exactly like
butter--a delectable, golden yellow, and all dewy-looking, as it used
to come out of the spring-house at Grandmother's.
"Sit," said the Monarch, briefly.
Sara sat.
"Eat," said the Monarch, in the same sleepy but authoritative voice.
Now, Sara was terribly uncomfortable. To be sure, nothing had ever
looked more delicious, and Sara liked butter on bread--a great deal of
it, in fact. But to eat all butter, without anything to go with it!
Yet she felt it would be dreadfully impolite to refuse; and she could
not bear to be thought impolite by all these haughty and elegant
persons. She was just about to say, humbly, "Please, might I have a
little bread?" when it occurred to her that she might just taste it,
at least. And oh, how glad she was that she did! For, of course, you
have guessed that it was not just ordinary butter, though it looked
exactly like it. It was not even the plain imaginary kind: it was
enchanted butterfly butter. And if you have ever seen a monarch
butterfly as big as a peacock, sitting on a throne, you know what it
tasted like. The nearest I can come to explaining is to say that it
tasted a little like custard and a little like ice-cream and a little
like a sort of candy Sara had forgotten the name of. And it had a
fragrance something like that of isthagaria.
The Monarch went to sleep as soon as he saw that Sara had begun to eat;
but just before she finished he was awakened by a court official who
came in to announce, with a bored expression, that two ladies of high
degree, members of families very prominent in the realm, desired an
audience with His Majesty.
The Monarch sighed and rubbed his eyes with his feelers.
"Show them in," he said.
The two ladies came zigzagging in, talking and arguing excitedly; they
were the first really animated persons Sara had seen in all this warm,
shimmering place.
"The Princess Interrogation: the Countess Leaf-Wing," announced the
courtier.
Then the two ladies, who had been talking to each other, both began
talking at once to the king. In spite of their aristocratic, high-bred
air, their long necks and waists and slender wrists and ankles, their
high heels and gorgeous clothes, they were as angry as cooks.
"She was laying eggs on my food-plant!" cried the Princess.
"I wasn't!" shrilled the Countess. "What do I want with her old
nettle? Don't I know Croton capita turn when I see it? I was just
resting, and she came and pushed me off--"
"She had already come and stuck her long tongue into a lily I had just
occupied," continued the Princess. "And I saw the eggs after she
left--"
"They were your own old flat eggs," said the Countess contemptuously.
"You haven't mind enough to remember where you put them!"
"Oh, roses!" sighed the Monarch, "I suppose I'll never have any
peace. Always on the verge of civil war! Yesterday it was the
clover-caterpillars complaining that the zebras were eating their
food--"
Sara was just thinking how shockingly unbecoming such conduct was, and
how they were all behaving more like children than like the nice,
unintelligent lower animals they ought to be, when another messenger
came flying in in a state of actual excitement.
"Your Majesty!" he cried. "There's a strange animal attacking the
caterpillars!"
Sara's heart sank. The Snoodle--she knew it must be the Snoodle! And
she felt responsible for him!
She jumped up from her silver table-cloth and ran out of the palace
door, with the whole court zigzagging excitedly after her. It was a
noiseless chase, for the butterflies (except when they quarrel) are
very quiet; but there was much excitement nevertheless. Sara ran a
little way from the palace before she came to the scene of the
disturbance--and such a scene as it was! Caterpillars everywhere,
bristling, smooth, green, pink, eye-marked and eyeless; caterpillars
standing on their tails, or crouching in every conceivable attitude of
defense; and in their midst the little Snoodle, frisking and fawning
and endeavoring to come to grips with the horny and horrified worms.
There was one old Hickory Horn-Devil in particular, who had come out
in front of the others like Goliath before the ranks of the
Philistines; and the Snoodle was dancing around him in an ecstasy of
anticipation. Though he was so excited, he looked so good-natured that
Sara could not believe that he wished to harm even these
fierce-looking brutes; indeed, there was a sort of resemblance between
them, except for the expression. And, as she thought that, it flashed
into Sara's mind that the Snoodle did not really want to hurt them, at
all, but only to embrace them! So she ran forward and cried to the
excited populace (who were spinning this way and that, wildly coiling
and uncoiling their springs and crying, "What in butter shall we do?),
"He won't hurt them--he won't hurt them! He only wants to embrace
them! He thinks they're his relatives--his father was a noodle!"
At this the people grew calmer, and began to gather around her head,
asking cautious questions. The caterpillars did not seem to
understand, and looked as frightened and agitated as ever; for Sara
was unconsciously speaking the butterfly language, and the
caterpillars spoke a different dialect.
"Give me a chance to prove my theory!" continued Sara, in the
butterfly language. "Here, Snoodle!" she called, soothingly.
"Here--Horn-Devil!" It took a great deal of courage for Sara to speak
soothingly to the giant caterpillar; but you see the butterfly people
were beginning to think her a very wise, brave person, and that made
it rather necessary for her to be one. So she gave a little gulp which
the spectators took for a sign of bravery, and drawing nearer by
inches, actually laid her hand on the rearing, plunging,
panic-stricken creature! He lurched and snorted terribly when her hand
first touched him, but as he did nothing worse, Sara grew braver and
more hopeful, and began to pat and stroke him and say soothing words.
Of course he could not understand the words, but he seemed to
understand the tone, for presently he stopped rearing, and at last
stood quite quiet, only breathing hard and trembling a little.
"Now, Snoodle, come here!" cried Sara, nerving herself for the supreme
test of her theory.
The Snoodle sprang forward at the word, and, as Sara had foretold,
threw his paws about the Horn-Devil's neck. The Horn-Devil sprang into
the air, making a sort of wild, whinnying sound (the only sound Sara
ever heard, then or afterward, from a caterpillar); but as Sara patted
him kindly and the Snoodle only wagged himself ecstatically, he grew
quiet again, and allowed himself to be hugged without further protest.
Then the Snoodle, having finished his embrace, released his long-lost
relative and sat down on his long hinder-parts, looking about at the
spectators with an air that said, "There! I'm satisfied! I didn't do
any harm, did I?"
And at that the populace went wild. You never saw such a change come
over a nation of people in your life. They showered attentions upon
Sara until she was so delighted that she scarcely knew how to deport
herself. They proclaimed her a heroine; they brought a sort of sedan
chair, borne, not by the common cabbage butterflies who usually
carried them, but by a Chrysophanus hypophlaeas and a Lavatera
assurgentiflora. And when they had put her into it they carried her at
the head of a procession to the royal gardens behind the palace, where
no mortal had ever entered; and there they crowned her with flowers
which have no name in our language, but which the butterflies call
tinnulalia. And they fed her--not with butter this time--but with
honey-dew. They fanned her with their enormous wings (as big as
peacocks') and hovered over her, and murmured compliments in her ears,
until it was hard for her to believe that they were the same lovely
but supercilious race who had received her so coolly in the morning.
And when, suddenly, the temple-gong sounded, and the Equine Gahoppigas,
saddled and bridled, and champing his bit, appeared at the entrance to
the royal gardens, they all took out their cobweb handkerchiefs and
wept bitterly.
And, indeed, Sara was loth to go; for this strange land was an
enchanting place when its people were kind. But she saw that it was
growing late; and, as the shadows began to lengthen, she suddenly
remembered that she had followed the Snoodle away without telling
anybody. She was certainly older than the Snoodle; he was so young and
irresponsible. Ought she not to have told the Snimmy's wife? Perhaps
he was running away!
So she gathered up the reins and saw him leap safely up behind her;
then she turned to wave good-by to the Butterfly Country and its
strange, changeable, elegant inhabitants. And as long as she could see
anything she watched the pulsing, many-colored wings waving
regretfully over the royal garden with the strange flowers.
The ride home through the cool of the evening was as delightful as the
morning's ride had been; but not quite so breathless and exciting,
because it seemed to Sara by this time quite natural to ride upon a
Gahoppigas. But when she slid off her charger at the entrance of the
Plynck's Garden her ears were assailed by an unspeakable clamor of
mournful sound; it sounded a little like a Swiss yodler with a broken
heart, and a little like a dog howling because the yodler was singing.
And it went "Snoodle-oodle-oodle-ooo!!" And Sara knew, with a sinking
heart, that it was the Snimmy's wife lifting up her voice in
lamentation for her lost child.
Therefore, for the first time, she was a little afraid to go into the
Garden. But she had already been so brave that day that she had rather
contracted the habit; so she drew a long breath, and, saying calmly,
"Come, Snoodle!" she walked straight up to the pool.
And such a clamor of rejoicing as arose at their appearance! The
Plynck was so surprised that she crowed like a rooster; and then
apologized to everybody (half-laughing and half-crying) for being so
unladylike. The Teacup fluttered, the Snimmy sniffed; and the Snimmy's
wife--that grim, undemonstrative woman--rushed out from the prose-bush
and gathered her darling, and Sara, too, to her heart.
But Sara was not through being brave. She stepped up upon Schlorge's
stump, and, swallowing hard, said in a clear voice,
"Perhaps it was my fault. I'm older than the Snoodle--"
"Hurrah for Sara! She's older than the Snoodle!" cried the First and
Second Gunki. And at that the whole Garden went wild over her just as
the butterflies had done. The Gunki carried her around on their
shoulders; the Snimmy and his wife pelted her with moon-flowers; the
Plynck and the Teacup kept up an agitated patter of feminine
hand-clapping; and Schlorge came running down the path from the
Dimplesmithy, cheering wildly.
When they finally put her down beside the dimple-holder, very rumpled
and bright-eyed and flushed, Sara felt her little heart swell with
pride. For twice that day she had been acclaimed a heroine--once because
she had tamed a caterpillar, and once because she was older than the
Snoodle.