IT was agreed by all hands at the next meeting,
that Bruin must tell the story.
“You have not told a story for a long, long
time, Bruin,” said Toto,—“not since we began
to meet here; and Granny wants to hear one of
your stories; don’t you, Granny?”
“Indeed,” said the grandmother, “I should
like very much to hear one of Mr. Bruin’s stories.
I am told they are very delightful.”
Mr. Bruin bowed in his peculiar fashion, and
murmured something which sounded like “How-wow-mumberygrubble.”
The old lady knew, however, that it was meant
for “Thank you, ma’am,” and took the will for
the deed.
Bruin sucked his paw thoughtfully for a few
minutes; then, raising his head with an air of
inspiration,—“Pigeon Pretty,” he asked, “what
kind of a bear was that in your story?”
“Really, Bruin, I do not know,” replied the
wood-pigeon. “It said ‘a bear,’ that was all.”
“You see,” continued Bruin, “there are so
many kinds of bears,—black, brown, cinnamon,
grizzly, polar,—really, there is no end to them.
I thought, however, that this might possibly have
been the Lost Prince of the Poles.”
Here Bruin paused a moment and looked about.
“The Lost Prince of the Poles!” exclaimed
Toto. “What a fine name for a story! Tell us
now, Bruin; tell us all about him.”
“Listen, then,” said the bear, “and you shall
hear about
THE LOST PRINCE OF THE POLES.
The polar bears, as you probably know, are a
large and powerful nation. They are governed
by a king, who is called the Solar-Polarity of the
Hypopeppercorns.
“Oh!” cried Toto. “What _does_ that mean?”
Nobody knows what it means. That is the
great charm of the title. Gives it majesty, you
understand. The present Solar-Polarity is, I am
told, quite worthy of his title, for he is very
majestic, and knows absolutely nothing. He sits
on the top of the North Pole, and directs the
movement of the icebergs.
At the time of which I am going to tell you,
which was so long ago as to be no particular time
at all, the Solar-Polarity had an only son,—a most
promising young bear,—the heir to the kingdom.
He was brought up with the greatest care possible,
and when he had arrived at a suitable age, his
father begged him to choose a mate among the
youngest and fairest of the she-bears, or, as they
are more elegantly termed, bearesses. To the
amazement of the Solar-Polarity, the Prince flatly
refused.
“I will not marry one of these cold, white
creatures!” he said; “I am tired of white. I
want to marry one of those things;” and he
pointed to the north, where the Northern Lights
were shooting up in long streamers of crimson
and green and purple.
“One of those things!” cried his father. “My
dear son, are you mad? Those are Rory-Bories;
they are not the sort of thing one can marry. It’s—it’s
ridiculous to think of such a thing.”
“Well,” said the Prince, “then I will marry
the creature that is most like them. There must
be some creature that has those pretty colors. I
will go and ask the Principal Whale.”
So he went and asked the Principal Whale if
he knew any creature that was colored like the
Rory-Bories.
“Frankly,” said the whale, “I do not. Doubtless
there are such, but I have never happened to
meet any of them. I will tell you what I will do,
however,” he said, seeing the Prince’s look of disappointment.
“I am just starting on a voyage to
the Southern seas; and if you like I will take you
with me, and you can look about you and decide
for yourself.”
The young bear was delighted with this proposition,
and proceeded at once to assume the full-dress
costume of the polar bears, which consists in
tying three knots in the tail.
“A—_ex_cuse me!” interrupted the raccoon, “I
thought no bears had any tails to speak of;” and
he glanced complacently at his own magnificent
tail, which was curled round his feet.
“He sailed away for the Southern seas.”
They have none to speak of; which makes it
all the more remarkable for them to be able to
tie three knots in them. As soon as this was
accomplished, the Prince declared that he was
ready to start.
“So am I,” said the Principal Whale. And
taking the Prince of the Poles on his back, he
sailed away for the Southern seas.
They went on and on for several days without
any adventures; till one day the young bear
saw a huge jelly-fish floating towards them.
“See!” he cried, “there is a lovely creature, as
bright and beautiful as the Rory-Bories. Surely
this is the creature for me to marry!”
“I don’t think you would like to marry that,”
said the whale. “That is a jelly-fish. But we
will go and speak to it, and you can judge for
yourself.” So the whale swam up to the jelly-fish,
who looked at them, but said nothing.
“My dear,” said the Prince, “you are very
beautiful.”
“Yah!” said the jelly-fish (who was in reality
extremely ignorant, and had never gone to dancing-school),
“that’s more than I can say for you!”
“I am sorry to hear you say that,” said the
Prince, mildly.
“Will you marry me, and be Princess of the
Poles?”
“Marry your grandmother!” replied the jelly-fish
in a very rude manner; and off it flounced
under the water.
The young bear looked sadly after it. “It was
very pretty,” he said; “why did it want me to
marry my grandmother?”
“It didn’t,” replied the whale. “That was
only its way of speaking. An unmannerly minx!
Don’t think any more about it,” and they continued
their voyage.
A couple of days after this they met the swordfish
and his daughter.
“These are some friends of mine,” said the
Principal Whale. “We will see if they can aid
us in our search.”
The swordfish greeted them kindly, and invited
them to come down and make him a visit.
“Thank you,” said the whale. “We have
not time to stop now. We are in search of a
creature as bright in color as the Rory-Bories.
My young friend here, the Prince of the Poles, is
anxious to marry such a creature, if he can only
find her.”
But the swordfish shook his head, and said he
could not think of any one who would answer the
description.
“_I_ will marry you if you wish,” said the swordfish’s
daughter, who was much struck by the appearance
of the young bear. “I am considered
very agreeable, and I think I could make you
happy.”
“But you are not bright,” cried the poor
Prince in distress. “You are even black, saving
your presence. I don’t wish to hurt your feelings,
but really you are not at all the sort of creature
I was looking for; though I have no doubt,” he
added, “that you are extremely agreeable.”
“You might play I was a Rory-Bory behind a
cloud on a dark night,” suggested the swordfish’s
daughter.
But the Prince did not think that would do,
and the whale agreed with him. “One cannot
play,” he said, “when one is married.” Accordingly
they bade a friendly farewell to the swordfish
and his daughter, and continued their voyage.
After several days they saw in the distance
the coast of Africa. As they approached it, the
Prince saw something bright on the land, near
the edge of the water. “See!” he cried, “there
is something very bright and beautiful. Let
us go nearer, and see what it is.” So they
went nearer, and saw a long line of scarlet flamingoes,
drawn up on the beach like a company
of soldiers.
“Prince,” said the Principal Whale, “your journey
has not been in vain. I really think these are
the creatures you have been looking for.”
As he spoke, the flamingoes, who had caught
sight of the strange creatures approaching the
shore, rose into the air, with a great flapping of
wings, and flew slowly away.
The Prince was in ecstasies. “Oh, Whale!”
he cried, “these _are_ Rory-Bories, real live Rory-Bories!
See how they shoot up, like long streamers!
See how they glow and shine! One still
remains on the shore, the loveliest of all. She is
my bride! She is the Princess of the Poles!
Swim close to the shore, good Whale!”
The whale swam up to the shore, the water
being fortunately deep enough to allow him to do
so, and the bear addressed the solitary flamingo,
which still stood upon the beach, watching them
with great curiosity. This was, in fact, the Princess
of the Flamingoes; and besides being rather
curious by nature, she thought it would be beneath
her dignity to fly away just because some
strange creatures were approaching. So she stood
still, in an attitude of royal ease.
“Lovely creature!” said the Prince, “tell me,
oh, tell me, are you really and truly a Rory-Bory?
I am sure you must be, from your brilliant
and exquisite beauty.”
“Not quite,” answered the flamingo. “Not
_quite_ the same thing, though very nearly. I am a
flamingo, and the Rory-Bory is a flaming go;
pronounced differently, you perceive. That is
the principal difference between the two families,
though there are some other minor variations,
which may be caused by the climate. What is
your pleasure with me, and what might you happen
to be?”
“My pleasure is to marry you!” exclaimed the
young bear rapturously. “I am a white bear,
and am called the Prince of the Poles. After my
father’s death I shall become Solar-Polarity of
the Hypopeppercorns. Will you be my bride,
and reign with me as queen? You shall sit upon
the North Pole, and direct the movements of the
icebergs.”
The flamingo closed one eye, and drew up one
leg in an attitude of graceful and maidenly coyness.
“Your manners and bearing interest me much,”
she said after a pause; “and I should be glad
to do as you suggest, but I fear it is impossible.
We are not allowed to marry any one with more
than two legs; and you, I perceive, have four.”
The poor Prince was quite staggered by this
remark, for he was proud of his legs, which,
though short, were finely formed. He was silent
in dismay. But now the Principal Whale interposed.
“Would it not be possible to make an
exception in this case?” he asked. “My young
friend has come a very long way in search of you,
and has quite set his heart on this marriage.”
“Alas!” said the flamingo, “I fear not. It
is the first law in the kingdom, and I dare not
break it.”
“What shall I do, then?” cried the Prince in
despair. “If I cannot have you, I will go back
and marry the swordfish’s daughter, and you
would be sorry to have me do that if you knew
how ugly she was.”
“In difficult cases,” said the flamingo, “we
always consult the hippopotamouse. I should
advise you to do the same.”
“The hippopotamouse?” exclaimed the Prince.
“Where is he to be found? Tell me, that I may
fly to him at once.”
“He lives in the middle of the central plain of
Pongolia,” replied the flamingo.
“In that case,” said the Principal Whale, “I must
leave you, my Prince, as travelling on land is one
of the pleasures I must deny myself, being constitutionally
unfitted for it.”
The Prince thanked the whale warmly for his
kindness, and after taking a most affecting leave
of the Flamingo Princess, he set off for the central
plain of Pongolia.
He travelled night and day, and after many
days he arrived at the very middle of the plain.
There he found the hippopotamouse, sitting in the
middle of a river, nibbling a huge cheese.
This singular animal combined all the chief
qualities of a hippopotamus and a mouse. His appearance
was truly astonishing, and filled the mind
of the Prince with mingled feelings. He stood for
some time gazing at him in silent amazement.
Presently the hippopotamouse looked up sharply.
“Well,” he said, “what do you want? Do
you think I am pretty?”
“N-no!” replied the young bear. “You may be
good; but I don’t think you are pretty. I want,”
he continued, “to marry the Flamingo Princess.
I am the Prince of the Poles, son of the Solar-Polarity
of the Hypopeppercorns. You may have
heard of my father.”
“Oh! ah! yes!” said the hippopotamouse.
“I’ve heard of _him_. Well, why _don’t_ you marry
her?”
“Because I have four legs,” answered the Prince
sadly; “and it is against the law for a flamingo to
marry any one with more than two.”
“True. I had forgotten that,” said the hippopotamouse.
“Can you suggest any way out of the difficulty?”
inquired the Prince.
Without making any reply, the hippopotamouse
plunged into meditation and the cheese at the
same moment, and nibbled and meditated in
silence for several hours; while the unhappy
Prince stood first on one leg, and then on the
other, endeavoring in vain to conceal his impatience.
Finally, when he was quite exhausted
with waiting, the hippopotamouse took his head
out of the cheese.
“My young friend,” he said, “I see but one way.”
“My young friend,” he said, “I see but one
way out of the difficulty, and that is for you to
walk about on two of your legs until they are
worn out. Then, you perceive, you will have,
unless my calculations have misled me, exactly
two left,—the proper number to enable you
legally to marry the Flamingo Princess. You
may find this fatiguing,” he continued, seeing the
Prince’s look of dismay; “but really I can see
nothing else for you to do; and when you reflect
that everything is more or less fatiguing, and that
I have worn out five complete sets of teeth on this
very cheese, you may become reconciled to your
lot. Good-by. I wish you well.” And without
more ado, he plunged into the cheese once more.
The unhappy Prince uttered one wild howl,
and turning away, fled into the savage wilds of
the Pongolian forest.
Here Bruin paused, shook his head, and sighed
deeply.
“Oh! go on, Bruin,” cried Toto eagerly. “How
_can_ you stop there? Go on immediately, and tell
us the rest!”
Alas! there is little more to tell; for from that
moment the Prince of the Poles has never been
seen or heard of.
The Flamingo Princess waited long and anxiously
for his return; but he never came. I believe
she finally married an ostrich, who led her a
terrible life.
The Principal Whale called at the coast of
Africa on his way back from the Southern seas,
and hearing the sad intelligence of the Prince’s
disappearance, departed in great sadness for his
Northern home, to break the news to the Solar-Polarity
of the Hypopeppercorns. When that
potentate heard of the disappearance of his son,
he fell off the North Pole, and broke his neck;
and the whole nation assumed the mourning costume
of the polar bears, which consists in tying
a sailor’s knot in the left ear, and a granny’s knot
in the right.
And thus ends, in sadness and despair, the story
of “The Lost Prince of the Poles.”