A COLLATION UNDER DIFFICULTIES
D'une facon fort civile.
_Le rat de ville et le rat des champs._
They were at the opposite side of the garden from that by which they had
entered it, and just before them was a large white tent. A faint sound
reached them--a rustle and murmur, as of people moving about busily, but
not of voices. The tent appeared closed, but as they went nearer they
saw that there were doors or flaps in the stuff it was made of, which
could be opened either from within or without.
Hildegarde turned to Leonore.
'We may as well go in,' she said. 'We weren't told not to, and we want
to see all we can.'
Leonore was looking a little frightened again.
'We can't knock,' she said; 'there's nothing to knock on. And we can't
ring; there's no bell.'
'So the only thing is to walk in,' said Hildegarde.
She drew aside the first flap they came to, and both entered.
It was a busy scene. There was a table right round the tent, and at it
gnomes were working actively. A moment's glance sufficed to show that
they were packing, for queer-shaped boxes and baskets stood about, and
quantities of moss. For a minute or so no one seemed to notice the
visitors. These gnomes were evidently not of the young and giddy class;
they did not seem to be speaking to each other at all. The children drew
still closer to the table. The gnome nearest to them was laying a bright
scarlet flower, in shape like a large pitcher with half a dozen small
jugs hanging round it, in a basket well filled with moss. He glanced at
the newcomers.
'If you please,' said Hildegarde, 'are you packing flowers?'
'You can see that for yourself,' was the reply.
'Yes,' she agreed, 'but we would like to know why you are doing it--I
mean where are all the packages to be sent to, and what for?'
'Who sent you down here?' asked the gnome.
'The spinning-wheel fairy,' Hildegarde replied.
The gnome's manner became more cordial.
'Ah well, then,' he said, 'I don't mind explaining things a little. She
would not send idle folk to tease us; she is always busy herself. We are
packing pattern-flowers. Our artists design them, and our most skilful
metal-workers make them, and then we send them up to be copied again.'
'Up to our world, do you mean?' asked Leonore. 'I didn't know we had so
many new patterns of flowers.'
The gnome shook his head.
'You don't,' he said; 'only a very few find their way to the place you
come from. We send them first to the flower-fairies, and they copy them
in common stuff--stuff like what all your flowers up there are made of,'
with a tone of contempt, 'and then they send them off again--seeds or
roots--whichever they think best, and that's how new flowers start.'
'But where do they send them to?' asked Hildegarde curiously. 'You say
not many come to our world.'
'That's not my business,' he replied. 'Your world isn't the only one.
You can ask the flower-fairies if ever you pass their way. Now I must
get on with my work. If you cross the tent you will see the toy-packers
at the other side.'
The children's eyes sparkled.
'Toys,' they repeated. 'Do you make toys down here?'
The gnome nodded.
'That's our principal dealing with your world,' he said. 'You don't mean
to say you thought all the toys your shops are full of are made by
clumsy human fingers! You should see our toy factory about
Christmas-time. Santa Claus has a time of it, choosing and settling, I
can tell you.'
Hildegarde and Leonore were breathless with eagerness.
'Oh, how interesting!' they exclaimed. 'Mayn't we see the toy factory?
Do tell us which way to go to get to it.'
But to their disappointment the little packer shook his head.
'Can't be done,' he said. 'Doors are closed to all visitors for six
months before Christmas. That's the arrangement with Santa Claus. It
would never do for it to leak out about the new inventions before the
time. You can see some of the regular toys over there where they're
packing, for even on them we're always improving.'
The children saw that it was no use persisting, for there was something
very decided about the gnomes' manner even when they were the most
amiable. And the small man was busily at work again. So they made their
way quietly to the other side of the tent.
There they saw displayed, waiting to be packed, a good many toys they
had often seen before, and some not so familiar. There were queer little
doll gnomes, or groups of them for ornaments--not very like those the
children had seen alive in one way, for as a rule the living gnomes were
grave and pompous, and the figures were represented as laughing and
rollicking.
'They must be taken from the young gnomes, the ones who are only two or
three hundred years old,' said Leonore, smiling. 'But, oh, Hildegarde,
do look at that doll-house furniture half packed over there. Isn't it
too lovely? I've often wondered--haven't you?--how people's fingers
_could_ make such tiny things, but now I understand. Oh, I do wish we
could have seen the toy manufactory!'
But it was no use wishing. None of the packers took much notice of them,
so they thought it as well to pass out of the tent, trusting that
somehow or other they would find their way home, for they were sure
that the spinning-wheel fairy would not forget them.
And in this they were right.
A straight path between the rocks was before them as they came out of
the tent, so there was no question of which way to go. They ran on
fearlessly for some distance, till the passage they were following
suddenly emerged into a large square, or 'round' rather, on all sides of
which stood tiny little houses, each exactly like its neighbours, with a
door in the middle, and a window at both sides. And at every doorway
appeared a little gnome woman, with a gnome baby in her arms. You never
saw anything so funny.
Hildegarde and Leonore stopped short in astonishment; they could
scarcely help bursting out laughing, the whole scene was so comical.
'This must be the gnome village,' said Hildegarde in a low voice. 'I
wonder how old these "babies" are--fifty or sixty, perhaps!'
Before Leonore had time to reply, one of the little women stepped
forward. She curtsied very politely, and when she spoke her voice,
though rather squeaky, was meek and gentle. It was evident that the
Mrs. Gnomes were kept in good order by their lords and masters.
'We have received a message to tell us you would be honouring us with a
visit,' she said, 'and we have prepared a little collation for you. May
I ask you to step inside?'
She pointed as she spoke to the door of her own little house, and the
children turned to follow her. But, alack and alas, with all the
goodwill in the world, they could not have availed themselves of the
good lady's invitation! The door of the cottage was not as high as their
waists, and even if they had crept in, they could not possibly have
stood or even crouched inside. It would have been a tighter fit than in
a fair-sized dog's kennel!
'I am very sorry,' began Hildegarde, but she was interrupted by a burst
of wailing. All the little women had rushed forward, each clutching her
baby, and all the babies roared too, rubbing their fists in their eyes,
and looking more grotesquely gnome-like--as indeed they had a good right
to do--than ever.
'Oh dear, oh dear,' sobbed the little women, 'what _shall_ we do? We
never thought of our houses being too small for the gracious ladies, and
our masters will be so angry if they find the collation has not been
partaken of, for they sent strict orders by an electric bird.'
'An electric bird,' repeated the children, very much interested. 'Do let
us see it,' but the gnome lady nearest them shook her head.
'It's gone back again,' she said, 'and it flies so fast you couldn't see
it. It just whistles a message. Oh, it's quite a common thing; but, oh
dear, dear, what _shall_ we do about the collation?' and at her words
all the other little women started wringing their hands again, while the
babies screamed.
Hildegarde looked as if she did not know whether to laugh or to pity
them, but Leonore felt very sorry for them; then a brilliant thought
struck her.
'Supposing you carry it out here,' she said, 'to the middle of the
square--the collation, I mean. We could sit down on the ground and eat
it quite comfortably.'
And indeed so far as the _quantity_ was concerned, there was not likely
to be any difficulty. 'If they've planned it according to their own
size,' Leonore whispered to Hildegarde, 'we could eat it all up like a
dolls' feast in half a minute.'
'Yes,' Hildegarde replied in the same tone. 'I only hope it is
something we _can_ eat. Not roasted flies, or anything like that.'
The little women had seized Leonore's suggestion with delight, and were
now busily employed in carrying out the feast. They first placed a
table--a huge table they evidently thought it, though it was only about
two feet long--in the middle of the square, and then carried out the
dishes, of which, the little girls were glad to see, there were not,
after all, above half a dozen.
Then the gnome lady who had first spoken to them seated herself at one
end, and Hildegarde and Leonore took their places on the ground at each
side, the crowd of little women, rushing about to wait upon them,
tucking their babies under one arm in an original fashion of their own.
'What may I have the pleasure of helping you to first?' said the small
hostess. She had now quite recovered her spirits, and spoke in a very
elegant manner, moving her hands airily over the dishes, having plumped
down _her_ baby on the ground beside her, where it lay quite contentedly
sucking its thumbs.
'Thank you,' said Hildegarde, 'please give us anything you like.'
'It is a little difficult to choose, you see,' said Leonore, who felt
quite at ease with the gnome ladies, 'as we do not know what the things
are--though,' she added quickly, 'they look very nice.'
The small woman looked rather disappointed.
'They should not be strange to you,' she said. 'They are all--or nearly
all--made of our upper-world supplies, as we thought you would prefer
them. The dish before you contains blackberries, with just a touch of
pine-cone flavouring; the one opposite is wild honey--we deal regularly
with the bees through the flower-fairies, who understand their language.
Then these are cakes of acorn flour, and the jelly at the other side is
a special recipe of our own made from the moss which grows thickly where
the streamlets trickle down from the upper world.'
'Thank you,' said Hildegarde again, 'may I have some blackberries? It is
very late for them, isn't it?'
Their hostess shook her head.
'They are not freshly gathered,' she said, 'but they are just as
good--nothing ever gets stale in our rock larders.'
'How very convenient,' said Hildegarde, as she tasted the blackberries.
They were not bad, though they had a curious aromatic flavour. But
after all, it did not much matter, as one good-sized teaspoon would have
held all her helping!
Leonore had chosen a tiny cake and honey, and then their hospitable
friend insisted on both children tasting every other dish on the table,
which they had to do, though in one or two cases they tried to hide how
very little they took. The moss jelly was decidedly peculiar!
'Aren't you going to eat anything yourselves?' Leonore inquired. The
gnome ladies gave a wail of disapproval--such a thing was quite contrary
to their ideas of good manners.
'Never, never would we be so rude,' they said. And the children,
remembering the fairy's warning, said no more on this point, for fear of
offending even these meek little women.
But they felt very curious to hear more of the ways and customs of their
underground friends.
'Do you have all you eat sent down from our country, or from Fairyland?'
asked Leonore in a very polite tone.
'Oh dear, no,' was the reply. 'Just occasionally. We have plenty of
supplies of our own.'
'Do tell us what,' said Hildegarde.
Their hostess hesitated a little.
'You might not appreciate our national dishes,' she said. 'We are very
fond of stewed frogs, and find them most nourishing, and a good fat toad
makes an excellent dish.'
Even politeness could not keep back an exclamation of horror from the
visitors, though they tried to smother it.
'Ugh!' said Hildegarde with a shiver.
'Ugh!' said Leonore. But Hildegarde went on speaking so quickly, that it
is to be hoped the gnome ladies did not hear the 'ughs.' 'I think,' she
said, getting up from the ground as she spoke, 'I think we must be
going--don't you, Leonore?'
'Yes,' said Leonore eagerly, 'I am sure we must.' And when they were
alone together, each owned to the other that she felt as if there must
be toads and frogs all about! 'We thank you very much for your
kindness,' they went on, 'and please tell the--the gentlemen that the
collation was excellent. And we should like to know the nearest way
home, if you will kindly show it us.'
The little lady gnome got up from her seat and curtsied graciously. So
did all the others, though the effect in their case was a little spoilt
by the tucked-in baby gnome under each arm. Apparently the lady who had
done the honours of the feast was the only one to whom it was permitted
to deposit _her_ baby on the floor!
She waved her hand towards the opposite side of the square, or circle of
houses.
'You will have no difficulty in finding your way,' she said. 'All
arrangements have been made.'
She did not press them to stay longer, so they bowed in return, most
politely of course, and went off in the direction pointed out.
'Perhaps,' said Leonore, 'they are afraid of the gnome gentlemen coming
home to supper and scolding them for having the collation outside. I
should not like to be a gnome lady.'
'Nor should I,' Hildegarde agreed. 'Certainly the collation could not
have been _indoors_. But I should have liked to peep into the
houses--wouldn't you, Leonore? And I _almost_ think I should have liked
to pick up one of the gnome babies, though they _are_ rather froggy.'
Leonore shuddered.
'Don't speak of frogs or toads,' she said, and she hastened on more
rapidly. 'Do let us get away quickly,' she added. 'I have got such a
feeling that we shall be treading on some.'
Hildegarde laughed at her.
'Nonsense,' she said, 'they couldn't live on this dry gravel or sand, or
whatever it is. I expect the gnomes find them where the little streams
trickle down. Oh, Leonore, I do hope we shall find our way! This path
looks just exactly like the one we came in by.'
And so it did. But they had not far to go before all misgivings were set
at rest by the unexpected appearance of a very fine gray donkey standing
on the path before them. He was handsomely caparisoned, and a pannier
hung at each side, large enough for a child of our little girls' size to
sit in comfortably; and if any doubt remained in their minds as to what
they were meant to do, it was soon put to flight, for as they came close
up to the donkey, they saw that one pannier was labelled 'Hildegarde,'
and the other 'Leonore.'
'Oh, what fun!' they exclaimed. 'What nice arrangements the gnomes make!
This time they have not forgotten how big we are. What a beautiful
donkey!'
A very quiet donkey too, apparently. He stood perfectly still while the
little girls mounted into their places, which was all very well, but he
showed no signs of moving after they were settled either, though they
shook the reins and begged him to gee-up!
Suddenly Hildegarde turned to Leonore.
'Leonore,' she said, 'I don't believe he's a live donkey! Feel him--he's
quite cold--he's like the magic horse in the _Arabian Nights_, who moved
by a spring. How can we find out how to make him go?'
They had no need to do so after all. Almost before Hildegarde finished
speaking, a short shrill whistle was heard, and off the same instant
started the donkey!
'Up,' I should say--rather than 'off.' For, greatly to the children's
astonishment, they felt themselves rising from the ground. Up, up, up
they went, the light growing gradually dimmer and dimmer, till but for a
round spot which gradually appeared white, high above them, they would
have been in total darkness.
'Hildegarde,' whispered Leonore, 'are you frightened? It's a nice
feeling, going up so fast, isn't it, but I wonder where we are going
to?'
The star of white light overhead grew larger; they became able to
distinguish that they were in a kind of shaft; it was not cold or
uncomfortable in any way, and the panniers in which they sat were easily
cushioned.
'I believe,' began Hildegarde, but she did not finish her sentence.
There came another whistle, softer and longer than the first, and
something--was it a gentle hand, or the touch of a bird's feathered
wing?--they could not tell--made both little girls close their eyes for
a moment. And when they opened them again--where were they?
[Illustration: "WHO SENT YOU TO KISS US, YOU BREEZES OF MAY?"]