IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY TELLS OF MYSTERIES AND SPANGLES
“Well,” said Tiger, as he folded his paws in a most complacent manner,
“I’m ready.”
“We, also,” declared Elephant, speaking for his entire family, who,
having formed a line, were just at that moment swaying backward and
forward quite as if they were about to glide into the graceful maze of a
waltz.
“So are all of us,” commented Lion, as he surveyed the great group from
his station before it. “I wonder what can be keeping the Pretty Lady?”
“Perhaps the White-White Horse is delayed by the clouds,” suggested
Elephant, as he paused long enough to push back the wall near the caves
of the tent and peer into the dusk. “I can make out whole crowds of them
along the streets of the sky. They have been there all afternoon. It is
always that way on market days. Even the sun can scarcely find its way.”
“How long do you suppose it has been since half-past twilight began?”
asked Emu of Diggeldy Dan.
“Well, well,” said the clown, as he drew the Petal Watch from the
innermost depths of his round, funny hat, “now that’s what I call a
question.”
“Let me see,” mused he, setting his head on one side, pursing his very
red lips and half shutting his two, twinkling eyes. “I should
say—though, mind you, I do not pretend to be exactly correct—I should
say it has been not less than five hippo-yawns, nor yet more than two
cat-naps.”
“Oh, surely, it must be longer than that,” protested Monkey. “It seems
an age to me. I never saw such a watch, anyway. Now, if it had behaved
for but a minute more last evening, we should all have known the secret
of the Story Time Rock.”
“Monkey, Monkey,” sighed Lion, “I am afraid that you are of that queer
set of folks who are ever looking for a clock that will travel both ways
at one time.”
“Both ways at one time!” exclaimed Monkey. “Why, who ever spoke of any
such thing? I surely did not, for, of course no such clock could
possibly be.”
“No, it could not,” answered Lion. “Yet, I repeat, that is what you
would like. For, in one breath, you find fault with the Petal Watch
because it moved too swiftly last night, and in the next you complain
because it travels so slowly to-day.”
“Exactly,” chimed Dan.
“Well, I never stopped to think of it in just that way,” admitted
Monkey, as he scratched his head, “and, besides—”
“Besides,” broke in the keen-eared Hyena, “here comes the one for whom
we’re all waiting!”
Sure enough there resounded the patter of oncoming hoofs and the next
moment into the menagerie tent galloped the White-White Horse, carrying
the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes. Her pink cheeks made the pinker
by the speed of the ride, and her curls blown straight back with the
rush of the wind, she drew up in front of the group.
“It was the clouds,” she explained. “There were simply no end of them
out shopping to-day, and then any number waited to see the sun go down.
Of course, all had to have spangles; and some of the baby clouds wanted
two helpings. That all took time, but—here I am at last. See! the
Spangle Bag is almost as flat as Elephant’s ear.”
“Where will you get enough spangles to fill it again?” asked Camel.
“I’ll be glad to tell you, but, for the present, one thing at a time.
Remember, we have not yet solved the mystery of the Story Time Rock.
Unless,” she hastened to add, “unless you have guessed the riddle of the
voice that was stilled.”
“Not one of us has,” answered Lion, “though we are all convinced that
Vargu was pretty much at the bottom of the whole strange affair.”
“He was, sure enough,” assented the Lady, “and this was the way of it:
Quite some time before he had made friends with Soft Foot Vargu had
discovered an all but hidden cave with an entrance from the top of the
cliff. He had explored it repeatedly and so knew its outer wall was
almost worn through the face of the rock. Now, as you may have guessed,
it was the nimble Too-Bo-Tan who passed through the tops of the trees
sending out the strange cry that called all the animals together.
Meanwhile, Vargu had taught Soft Foot a wonderful story. Finally, there
came the night when all the animals were gathered at the foot of the
cliff. And then, taking a stone, Vargu pounded a hole through the wall
of the cave to the outer side of the rock. Next, Soft Foot spoke to
those on the great plain below; and then he told them the story. Of
course, since he was telling it from the hollow depths of the cave, his
voice sounded ever so big. And so there was really no mystery at all.
“Having gained his point—that of bringing all the animals together—Vargu
gave his time to the meetings that were held on the plain. As the years
passed, Too-Bo-Tan succeeded his father and became the favorite among
all those who told tales at the Story Time Rock. And finally he came to
be a leader among them; and is to this very day.”
“Shall we ever see him?” asked Diggeldy Dan.
“I’m sure I don’t know. Sometime, perhaps. And now, one and all, a merry
good night, for I must hurry away to thread my spangle needles and set
them in place.”
“Spangle needles,” repeated Puma. “Pray, what are they?”
“Why, what else but needles that catch the spangles,” laughed the Pretty
Lady, “which reminds me that I was to tell you about them. Here,
Diggeldy Dan, take your place at the head of my White-White Horse, while
I explain just how spangles are made.
“You see,” she went on, as Dan skipped to obey, “spangles are really
nothing more than dewdrops squeezed out very flat. As for a
supply—there’s no end; but to catch them’s a trick requiring no little
knack. Now it has been my happy task to gather spangles for the clouds,
and for all the glittering hosts of our own Spangleland for ever and
ever and ever so long. And this is the best way of all: First, I take a
great armful of needles—medium sized moonbeams give the finest
results—and thread them with cobwebs. Next, I plant them along the sides
of my house directly under the edge of the eaves, with their heads in
the ground and their sharp little noses straight up in the air. Now,
during the night the dewdrops come to play on the roof and many jump off
to the garden below. And, as they do, they land on the points of the
moonbeams. Down they come, never minding in the least, for, if there is
one thing that a dewdrop would rather be than a dewdrop, it’s a spangle.
On and on they come, piling one on the other, becoming very flat, very
shiny and very round, and then sliding on to the threads. So, when
morning comes, I take the Spangle Bag, ‘snip’ the knots, and let the
spangles tumble and tinkle into its depths. And so I always have enough
to sprinkle the sunset whenever I pass.”
“Why, that must be the way the rain gets into the clouds!” cried
Diggeldy Dan.
“It’s one of the ways,” smiled the Lady.
“And the reason why spangles always have a wee hole in the middle,”
remarked Seal.
“How wonderfully fortunate,” added Zebra. “Otherwise, they couldn’t be
sewed.”
“I don’t see why you say that,” said Kangaroo.
“Say what?” asked Zebra.
“Why, that they have to have holes to be sowed.”
“But they do.”
“Can’t see it,” persisted Kangaroo.
“Why, how could one make them stay on?”
“Just sow them, of course,” answered Kangaroo, “toss them on.”
“Now, don’t be silly, Kangaroo,” said Zebra, “you—”
“Hold on a moment,” interrupted Lion. “I think I see the point. Let me
ask you, Kangaroo: On what are you thinking of sowing the spangles?”
“Why, I mean like when the Pretty Lady sows them on the cloud banks when
she rides past,” replied Kangaroo.
“And you, Zebra?” asked Lion.
“Camel’s plush robe, and costumes and things,” said Zebra.
“Oh, you mean ‘s-e-w-e-d!’” cried Kangaroo.
“Oh, you mean ‘s-o-w-e-d!’” apologized Zebra.
And amid the laughter that followed Dan assisted the Pretty Lady to the
back of the White-White Horse.
“You’ll come again, some day?” asked Lion, as the golden-haired one
waved them a smiling farewell.
“Some day,” she replied. And, giving full rein to her steed, she
galloped down the length of the tent. As the White-White Horse nosed his
way through the wall, the animals caught a glimpse of the first dartling
beams of a far-distant star. The Pretty Lady seemed to regard the beams
for a moment, as if trying to make up her mind whether they would quite
do for spangle needles. Then the wall closed again and the Lady, the
White-White Horse and the star passed from view, while all of the
animals hurried back to their places, still discussing the spangles that
were made from the dew.