No matter how the Flamp compass was twisted, the needle pointed steadily
to the mountains before them, and the children marched bravely forward.
They were hungry and tired, but Tilsa would as soon have thought of
asking Tobene to carry her as of turning back. As for Tobene, he put one
foot before the other as firmly as he was able, and tried to forget the
loss of his treasures.
The worst part of the journey was clambering over the hot rocks when the
mountains were reached, and the travellers did at last lose their
resolute cheerfulness, and had just sat down in the shade to have a good
cry, when they suddenly heard the sound of singing. Not exactly singing;
rather a melancholy droning, or chanting, as of a dirge. Listening
intently, they could make out these words:
_I'm not in the least in love with life;
I might be, p'raps, if I had a wife
To care for me in a wifely way,
Or a neighbour or two to say good-day,
Or a chum
To come
And give me the news in a friendly talk,
Or share a duet or a meal or a walk.
But all alone in the world am I,
And I sit in a cave,
And try to behave
As a good Flamp should, with philosophy.
I shan't last long, for the cave is damp,
And nothing's so bad for a Flamp
As cramp...._
'It's the Flamp!' said both children together, fearfully.
The chanting began again, and Tilsa and Tobene jumped up and, following
the sound of the voice, came to a wide and heavily-trodden path between
two rocks. They plodded along it until, rounding a crag, they perceived
immediately before them a yawning cave. Although the singer was out of
sight, the noise made by him was now almost overwhelming and so dismal
that the children were on the point of joining in the lamentation
themselves.
A few steps more brought them in sight of the melancholy songster.
Seated in a corner of the cave, with his massive head on his fore-paws,
the picture of dejection, was the most enormous creature they had ever
seen or dreamed about. He was rather like an elephant, but much more
immense and without a trunk: a huge, ungainly, slate-coloured animal.
He did not hear them, but sat rocking to and fro in his corner, moaning
lugubriously.
'Toby,' said Tilsa, who now was not in the least alarmed, 'can you
cough?'
'I'll try,' said Toby, and he coughed.
The Flamp took down one paw from its desert of face and peered out. Then
he sprang to his feet and rubbed his heavy, watery, blue eyes in blank
astonishment. Tilsa and Tobene did not move. They stood still, gazing
into the Flamp's great, mournful face, now wrinkled up with surprise and
excitement.
Then the Flamp spoke--'What?' he said, 'kids? Real kids? Flesh-and-blood
kids? Human, rollicking, kind-hearted kids?'
'We are real children,' Tilsa replied at length, 'if that is what you
mean, and, oh, we are so glad to have found you! The hedgehog's compass
told us to come this way, or we should never have reached you at all.'
'Then you set out intending to find me?' said the Flamp. 'Well, that is
a good one. How is it you're not scared, like all the rest of them?'
'I don't know,' said Tilsa. 'I can't think. But we weren't, were we,
Toby?'
'No,' said Tobene.
'And what made you come?' the Flamp asked.
'We--we--' Tilsa faltered. 'Well, sir, we thought you wanted sympathy,
like Alison did. And so we came to--to try and give you some.'
'And so I do,' the Flamp gasped out. 'And so I do,' and he lifted up his
right paw, and brushed it across his eyes. 'You see, it's precious
little of it I get. It's very hard, I can assure you, my dears, to be
the last of one's race. Why, the land was full of Flamps once, and a
fellow need never be in want of company, but now--now they're all dead,
all but me, and I'm not long for this life.' The Flamp sighed and
dropped a tear, which splashed heavily.
Tilsa felt very sorry. 'Poor--' she began to say, but stopped abruptly.
She was intending to say 'Poor Flamp,' but that now seemed to her too
familiar; so she altered it to 'Poor gentleman!' although when the word
was out, it seemed equally unsuitable.
Tobene said nothing aloud, but nudged Tilsa and whispered, 'Aren't you
going to try throwing your arms round him, Tilsa? It's time, isn't it?'
'Hush!' said Tilsa severely.
The Flamp went on: 'And I doubt if any one is keener on company than I
am. Over in the city yonder, you know, they have a season called
Christmas, when every one is supposed to be friends with every one else;
and I thought to myself, That's the time for me. I won't ask for much, I
thought, but if just one night in the year they'll look pleased to see
me, and say, 'How do?' why I'll be very grateful to them and a deal
happier during the months that follow. It wasn't much to ask, was it?
But I suppose I didn't go to work the right way, or perhaps I had two
legs too many. Anyway, they misunderstood me: thought I'd come to do
them harm or something, and tried shooting me and poisoning me and
barricading themselves in. Wouldn't even give me a moment's sight of a
kid's face. I didn't try any other night. It seemed to me that if at a
season of goodwill they would behave like that, my chances at an
ordinary time would be less than nothing. But men can't understand
animals. Children can, though they're apt to grow out of it. Thank
goodness, there's _some_ children that stay childlike to the end,
however old they may be.' He brushed his paw across his eyes again.
Soon he went on: 'So I've had to live alone, with no company but my own
voice. Maybe you heard me singing as you came. It wasn't much of a song,
I admit, for elegance of rhyme and metre don't seem to come easy, but a
song like that is more comfort than you'd believe.' He paused again.
Then he turned radiantly to his visitors. 'And you've trudged all the
way from the city just to be kind to me, have you? Well, that is good of
you! Bless your hearts, no one knows how much a deed like that means.
Why, it's as good as smush even to know that any one is thinking of you
kindly, let alone doing things. I haven't felt so cheery and comfortable
for years. But you must be hungry. Now tell me what you would like to
eat and I'll try and get it for you, and afterwards you must tell me all
about yourselves.'
Tilsa looked at Tobene, and Tobene at Tilsa.
Then Tobene spoke to the Flamp for the first time. 'You said just now
that something was as good as smush. Please, what is smush? because if
it's something to eat, I should like that.'
The Flamp laughed all over: 'Splendid,' he cried, 'splendid! Something
to eat? I should rather think it is. You couldn't have made a better
choice. You shall have smush. Sit down here while I get it ready.'
Tilsa and Tobene sat down, and the Flamp retreated farther into the
cave. There was a noise of pots and pans.
'Isn't he a whopper?' said Tobene.
'Tremendous,' said Tilsa. 'And what a dear old thing!'
'Yes,' Tobene continued, 'and what a set of donkeys those people at Ule
have been all these years. Why, he's as jolly as Alison, in a different
way. Do you think he'll give us a ride, Tilsa?'
'Of course he will,' said a deep voice above them. 'But you must eat
some smush first,' and looking up, they saw the Flamp on his hind legs,
towering into the roof of the cave, and in his paws a large dish and
some plates and spoons. 'Now then,' he said, 'eat as much as you can.'
(All that the historian can do towards a description of smush is to say
that its colour is pink, and its taste quite indescribable but blessed
in the highest degree. When asked about it afterwards, Tilsa and Tobene,
even to their old age, would become purple and inarticulate with
enthusiasm. Perhaps if each of you thinks of all the most delicious
things you have ever eaten, you will come a little nearer to an idea of
what smush is like.)
After they had finished, Tilsa told the Flamp all about herself, and
Tobene, and old Alison, and her grandfather the Liglid of Ule.
'I expect,' she said, 'they are looking for us now. And I think, sir, if
you don't mind, it would be better if you were to go back with us, and
then we could let everybody see how kind and gentle you are, and
grandpapa won't go on trying to circumvent you.'
'Circumvent?' said the Flamp. 'What's that?'
'I don't know what it means,' said Tilsa, 'except that it's something
horrid. And someone named Bill's going to do it.'
'All right,' said the Flamp, 'we will go back together, and the sooner
the better, I think, or that dear old Alison of yours will be nervous.
Although I should like to keep you here, you know. But you'll promise to
come again, won't you, and stay a long time?'
'O yes,' cried Tilsa and Tobene together, 'we should just think we
will!'