FROG-LAND.
"They have a pretty island,
Whereon at night they rest;
They have a sparkling lakelet,
And float upon its breast."
THE TWO SWANS.
Onwards quietly stepped the little procession, Houpet first, his tuft
waving as usual, with a comfortable air of importance and satisfaction;
then Nibble and Grignan abreast--hand-in-hand, I was going to have said;
next Hugh and Jeanne; with the two attendant chickens behind bringing up
the rear.
"I wonder where they are going to take us to," said Hugh in a low voice.
Somehow the soft light; the strange loneliness of the great plain,
where, now that they were accustomed to it, the rushing of the
numberless water-springs seemed to be but one single, steady sound; the
solemn behaviour of their curious guides, altogether, had subdued the
children's spirits. Jeanne said no more about "having fun," yet she did
not seem the least frightened or depressed; she was only quiet and
serious.
"Where _do_ you think they are going to take us to?" repeated Hugh.
"I don't know--at least I'm not sure," said Jeanne; "but, Chéri, isn't
it a good thing that Houpet and the others are with us to show us the
way, for though the ground looks so pretty it is quite boggy here and
there. I notice that Houpet never goes quite close to the fountains, and
just when I went the least bit near one a minute ago my feet began to
slip down."
"I haven't felt it like that at all," said Hugh. "Perhaps it's because
of my wall-climbers. Dudu gave me a pair of wall-climbers like the
flies', you know, Jeanne."
"Did he?" said Jeanne, not at all surprised, and as if wall-climbers
were no more uncommon than goloshes. "He didn't give me any, but then I
came a different way from you. I think every one comes a different way
to this country, do you know, Chéri?"
"And very likely Dudu thought I could carry you if there was anywhere
you couldn't climb," said Hugh, importantly. "I'm sure I----" he stopped
abruptly, for a sudden crow from Houpet had brought all the party to a
standstill. At first the children could not make out why their guide had
stopped here--there was nothing to be seen. But pressing forward a few
steps to where Houpet stood, Hugh saw, imbedded in the moss at his feet,
a stone with a ring in it, just like those which one reads of in the
_Arabian Nights_. Houpet stood at the edge of the stone eyeing it
gravely, and somehow he managed to make Hugh understand that he was to
lift it. Nothing loth, but rather doubtful as to whether he would be
strong enough, the boy leant forward to reach the ring, first
whispering, however, to Jeanne,
"It's getting like a quite real fairy tale, isn't it, Jeanne?"
Jeanne nodded, but looked rather anxious.
"I'm _afraid_ you can't lift it, Chéri," she said. "I think I'd better
stand behind and pull _you_--the ring isn't big enough for us both to
put our hands in it."
Hugh made no objection to her proposal, so Jeanne put her arms round his
waist, and when he gave a great pug to the ring she gave a great pug to
him. The first time it was no use, the stone did not move in the least.
"Try again," said Hugh, and try again they did. But no--the second try
succeeded no better than the first--and the children looked at each
other in perplexity. Suddenly there was a movement among the animals,
who had all been standing round watching the children's attempts; Jeanne
felt a sort of little pecking tug at her skirts--how it came about I
cannot say, but I think I forgot to tell you that, unlike Hugh in his
red flannel dressing gown, _she_ was arrayed for their adventures in her
best Sunday pelisse, trimmed with fur--and, looking round, lo and
behold! there was Houpet holding on to her with his beak, then came
Nibble, his two front paws embracing Houpet's feathered body, Grignan
behind him again, clutching with his mouth at Nibble's fur, and the two
chickens at the end holding on to Grignan and each other in some
indescribable and marvellous way. It was, for all the world, as if they
were preparing for the finish-up part of the game of "oranges and
lemons," or for that of "fox and geese!"
The sight was so comical that it was all the children could do to keep
their gravity, they succeeded in doing so, however, fearing that it
might hurt the animals' feelings to seem to make fun of their well-meant
efforts.
"Not that _they_ can be any use," whispered Hugh, "but it's very
good-natured of them all the same."
"I am not so sure that they can't be of any use," returned Jeanne.
"Think of how well Houpet drove."
"Here goes, then," said Hugh. "One, two, _three_;" and with "three" he
gave a tremendous tug--a much more tremendous tug than was required,
for, to his surprise, the stone yielded at once without the slightest
resistance, and back they all fell, one on the top of the other, Hugh,
Jeanne, Houpet, Nibble, Grignan, and the two chickens! But none of them
were any the worse, and with the greatest eagerness to see what was to
be seen where the stone had been, up jumped Hugh and Jeanne and ran
forward to the spot.
"There should be," said Jeanne, half out of breath--"there _should_ be a
little staircase for us to go down, if it is like the stories in the
_Arabian Nights_."
And, wonderful to relate, so there was! The children could hardly
believe their eyes, when below them they saw the most tempting little
spiral staircase of white stone or marble steps, with a neat little
brass balustrade at one side. It looked quite light all the way down,
though of course they could distinguish nothing at the bottom, as the
corkscrew twists of the staircase entirely filled up the space.
Houpet hopped forward and stood at the top of the steps crowing softly.
"He means that we're to go down," said Hugh. "Shall we?"
"Of course," said Jeanne. "I'm not a bit afraid. We won't have any fun
if we don't go on."
"Well then," said Hugh, "I'll go first as I'm a boy, just _in case_, you
know, Jeanne, of our meeting anything disagreeable."
So down he went, Jeanne following close after.
"I suppose Houpet and the others will come after us," said Jeanne,
rather anxiously. But just as she uttered the words a rather shrill crow
made both Hugh and her stop short and look up to the top. They saw
Houpet and the others standing round the edge of the hole. Houpet gave
another crow, in which the two chickens joined him, and then suddenly
the stone was shut down--the two children found themselves alone in this
strange place, leading to they knew not where! Jeanne gave a little
cry--Hugh, too, for a moment was rather startled, but he soon recovered
himself.
"Jeanne," he said, "it must be all right. I don't think we need be
frightened. See, it is quite light! The light comes up from below--down
there it must be quite bright and cheerful. Give me your hand--if we go
down sideways--so--we can hold each other's hands all the way."
So, in a rather queer fashion, they clambered down the long staircase.
By the time they got to its end they were really quite tired of turning
round and round so many times. But now the view before them was so
pleasant that they forgot all their troubles.
They had found a little door at the foot of the stair, which opened
easily. They passed through it, and there lay before them a beautiful
expanse of water surrounded by hills; the door which had closed behind
them seemed on this side to have been cut out of the turf of the hill,
and was all but invisible. It was light, as Hugh had said, but not with
the light of either sun or moon; a soft radiance was over everything,
but whence it came they could not tell. The hills on each side of the
water, which was more like a calmly flowing river than a lake, prevented
their seeing very far, but close to the shore by which they stood a
little boat was moored--a little boat with seats for two, and one light
pair of oars.
"Oh, how lovely!" said Jeanne. "It is even nicer than the carriage. Get
in, Hugh, and let us row down the river. The boat must be on purpose for
us."
They were soon settled in it, and Hugh, though he had only rowed once or
twice before in his life, found it very easy and pleasant, and they went
over the water swiftly and smoothly. After a while the hills approached
more nearly, gradually the broad river dwindled to a mere stream, so
narrow and small at last, that even their tiny boat could go no farther.
Hugh was forced to leave off rowing.
"I suppose we are meant to go on shore here," he said. "The boat won't
go any farther, any way."
Jeanne was peering forward: just before them the brook, or what still
remained of it, almost disappeared in a narrow little gorge between the
hills.
"Chéri," said she, "I shouldn't wonder if the stream gets wider again on
the other side of this little narrow place. Don't you think we'd better
try to pull the boat through, and then we might get into it again?"
"Perhaps," said Hugh. "We may try." So out the children got--Jeanne
pulled in front, Hugh pushed behind. It was so very light that there was
no difficulty as to its weight; only the gorge was so narrow that at
last the boat stuck fast.
"We'd better leave it and clamber through ourselves," said Hugh.
"But, O Chéri, we can't!" cried Jeanne. "From where I am I can see that
the water gets wider again a little farther on. And the rocks come quite
sharp down to the side. There is nowhere we could clamber on to, and I
dare say the water is very deep. There are lots of little streams
trickling into it from the rocks, and the boat could go quite well if we
could but get it a little farther."
"But we can't," said Hugh; "it just won't go."
"Oh dear," said Jeanne, "we'll have to go back. But how should we find
the door in the hillside to go up the stair; or if we did get up, how
should we push away the stone? And even then, there would be the forest
to go through, and perhaps we couldn't find our way among the trees as
Houpet did. O Chéri, what shall we do?"
Hugh stood still and considered.
"I think," he said at last, "I think the time's come for whistling."
And before Jeanne could ask him what he meant, he gave three clear,
short whistles, and then waited to see the effect.
It was a most unexpected one. Hugh had anticipated nothing else than the
sudden appearance, somehow and somewhere, of Monsieur Dudu himself, as
large as life--possibly, in this queer country of surprises, where they
found themselves, a little larger! When and how he would appear Hugh was
perfectly at a loss to imagine--he might fly down from the sky; he
might spring up from the water; he might just suddenly stand before them
without their having any idea how he had come. Hugh laughed to himself
at the thought of Jeanne's astonishment, and after all it was Jeanne who
first drew his attention to what was really happening.
"Hark, Chéri, hark!" she cried, "what a queer noise! What can it be?"
Hugh's attention had been so taken up in staring about in every
direction for the raven that he had not noticed the sound which Jeanne
had heard, and which now increased every moment.
It was a soft, swishy sound--as if innumerable little boats were making
their way through water, or as if innumerable little fairies were
bathing themselves, only every instant it came nearer and nearer, till
at last, on every side of the boat in which the children were still
standing, came creeping up from below lots and lots and _lots_ of small,
bright green frogs, who clambered over the sides and arranged themselves
in lines along the edges in the most methodical and orderly manner.
Jeanne gave a scream of horror, and darted across the boat to where Hugh
was standing.
"O Chéri," she cried, "why did you whistle? It's all that naughty Dudu.
He's going to turn us into frogs too, I do believe, because he thinks I
laughed at him. Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do?"
Chéri himself, though not quite so frightened as Jeanne, was not much
pleased with the result of his summons to the raven.
"It does look like a shabby trick," he said; "but still I do not think
the creatures mean to do us any harm. And I don't feel myself being
turned into a frog yet; do you, Jeanne?"
"I don't know," said Jeanne, a very little comforted; "I don't know what
it would feel like to be turned into a frog; I've always been a little
girl, and so I can't tell. I feel rather creepy and chilly, but perhaps
it's only with seeing the frogs. What funny red eyes they've got. What
can they be going to do?"
She forgot her fears in the interest of watching them; Hugh, too, stared
with all his eyes at the frogs, who, arranged in regular lines round the
edge of the boat, began working away industriously at something which,
for a minute or two, the children could not make out. At last Jeanne
called out eagerly,
"They are throwing over little lines, Chéri--lots and lots of little
lines. There must be frogs down below waiting to catch them."
So it was; each frog threw over several threads which he seemed to
unwind from his body; these threads were caught by something invisible
down below, and twisted round and round several times, till at last they
became as firm and strong as a fine twine. And when, apparently, the
frogs considered that they had made cables enough, they settled
themselves down, each firmly on his two hind legs, still holding by the
rope with their front ones, and then--in another moment--to the
children's great delight, they felt the boat beginning to move. It moved
on smoothly--almost as smoothly as when on the water--there were no jogs
or tugs, as might have been the case if it had been pulled by two or
three coarse, strong ropes, for all the hundreds of tiny cables pulling
together made one even force.
"Why, how clever they are!" cried Jeanne. "We go as smoothly as if we
were on wheels. Nice little frogs. I am sure we are very much obliged to
them--aren't we, Chéri?"
"And to Dudu," observed Hugh.
Jeanne shrugged her shoulders. She was not over and above sure of Dudu
even now.
The boat moved along for some time; the pass between the hills was dark
and gloomy, and though the water got wider, as Jeanne had seen, it would
not for some distance have been possible for the children to row. After
a time it suddenly grew much lighter; they came out from the narrow pass
and found themselves but a few yards from a sheet of still water with
trees all round it--a sort of mountain lake it seemed, silent and
solitary, and reflecting back from its calm bosom the soft, silvery,
even radiance which since they came out from the door on the hillside
had been the children's only light.
And in the middle of this lake lay a little island--a perfect nest of
trees, whose long drooping branches hung down into the water.
"Oh, do let us row on to the island," said Jeanne eagerly, for by this
time the frogs had drawn them to the edge of the lake; there could no
longer be any difficulty in rowing for themselves.
"First, any way, we must thank the frogs," said Hugh, standing up. He
would have taken off his cap if he had had one on; as it was, he could
only bow politely.
As he did so, each frog turned round so as to face him, and each gave a
little bob of the head, which, though not very graceful, was evidently
meant as an acknowledgment of Hugh's courtesy.
"They are very polite frogs," whispered Hugh. "Jeanne, do stand up and
bow to them too."
Jeanne, who all this time had been sitting with her feet tucked up under
her, showed no inclination to move.
"I don't like to stand up," she said, "for fear the frogs should run up
my legs. But I can thank them just as well sitting down. Frogs," she
added, "frogs, I am very much obliged to you, and I hope you will excuse
my not standing up."
The frogs bowed again, which was very considerate of them; then suddenly
there seemed a movement among them, those at the end of the boat drew
back a little, and a frog, whom the children had not hitherto specially
observed, came forward and stood in front of the others. He was bigger,
his colour was a brighter green, and his eyes more brilliantly red. He
stood up on his hind legs and bowed politely. Then, after clearing his
throat, of which there was much need, for even with this precaution it
sounded very croaky, he addressed the children.
"Monsieur and Mademoiselle," he began, "are very welcome to what we have
done for them--the small service we have rendered. Monsieur and
Mademoiselle, I and my companions"--"He should say, 'My companions and
I,'" whispered Jeanne--"are well brought up frogs. We know our place in
society. We disapprove of newfangled notions. We are frogs--we desire to
be nothing else, and we are deeply sensible of the honour Monsieur and
Mademoiselle have done us by this visit."
"He really speaks very nicely," said Jeanne in a whisper.
"Before Monsieur and Mademoiselle bid us farewell--before they leave our
shores," continued the frog with a wave of his "top legs," as Jeanne
afterwards called them, "we should desire to give them what, without
presumption, I may call a treat. Monsieur and Mademoiselle are,
doubtless, aware that in our humble way we are artists. Our
weakness--our strength I should rather say--is music. Our croaking
concerts are renowned far and wide, and by a most fortunate coincidence
one is about to take place, to celebrate the farewell--the departure to
other regions--of a songster whose family fame for many ages has been
renowned. Monsieur and Mademoiselle, to-night is to be heard for the
first time in this century the 'Song of the Swan.'"
"The song of the swan," repeated Hugh, rather puzzled; "I didn't know
swans ever sang. I thought it was just an old saying that they sing once
only--when they are dying."
The frog bowed.
"Just so," he said; "it is the truth. And, therefore, the extreme
difficulty of assisting at so unique a performance. It is but
seldom--not above half-a-dozen times in the recollection of the oldest
of my venerated cousins, the toads, that such an opportunity has
occurred--and as to whether human ears have _ever_ before been regaled
with what you are about to enjoy, you must allow me, Monsieur and
Mademoiselle, with all deference to your race, for whom naturally we
cherish the highest respect, to express a doubt."
"It's a little difficult to understand quite what he means, isn't it,
Chéri?" whispered Jeanne. "But, of course, we mustn't say so. It might
hurt his feelings."
"Yes," agreed Hugh, "it might. But we must say something polite."
"You say it," said Jeanne. "I really daren't stand up, and it's not so
easy to make a speech sitting down."
"Monsieur Frog, we are very much obliged to you," began Hugh. "Please
tell all the other frogs so too. We would like very much to hear the
concert. When does it begin, and where will it be?"
"All round the lake the performers will be stationed," replied the frog
pompously. "The chief artist occupies the island which you see from
here. If you move forward a little--to about half-way between the shore
and the island--you will, I think, be excellently placed. But first,"
seeing that Hugh was preparing to take up the oars, "first, you will
allow us, Monsieur and Mademoiselle, to offer you a little
collation--some slight refreshment after all the fatigues of your
journey to our shores."
"Oh dear! oh dear!" whispered Jeanne in a terrible fright; "please say
'No, thank you,' Chéri. I _know_ they'll be bringing us that horrid
green stuff for soup."
"Thank you very much," said Hugh; "you are very kind indeed, Monsieur
Frog, only, really, we're not hungry."
"A little refreshment--a mere nothing," said the frog, waving his hands
in an elegantly persuasive manner. "Tadpoles"--in a brisk, authoritative
tone--"tadpoles, refreshments for our guests."
Jeanne shivered, but nevertheless could not help watching with
curiosity. Scores of little tadpoles came hopping up the sides of the
boat, each dozen or so of them carrying among them large water-lily
leaves, on each of which curious and dainty-looking little cakes and
bonbons were arranged. The first that was presented to Jeanne contained
neat little biscuits about the size of a half-crown piece, of a tempting
rich brown colour.
"Flag-flour cakes," said the frog. "We roast and grind the flour in our
own mills. You will find them good."
Jeanne took one and found it very good. She would have taken another,
but already a second tray-ful or leaf-ful was before her, with
pinky-looking balls.
"Those are made from the sugar of water-brambles," remarked the frog,
with a self-satisfied smile. "No doubt you are surprised at the delicacy
and refinement of our tastes. Many human beings are under the deplorable
mistake of supposing we live on slimy water and dirty insects--ha, ha,
ha! whereas our cuisine is astounding in variety and delicacy of
material and flavour. If it were not too late in the season, I wish you
could have tasted our mushroom pâtés and minnows' eggs vols-au-vent."
"Thank you," said Hugh, "what we have had is very nice indeed."
"I _couldn't_ eat minnows' eggs," whispered Jeanne, looking rather
doubtfully at the succession of leaf trays that continued to appear. She
nibbled away at some of the least extraordinary-looking cakes, which the
frog informed her were made from the pith of rushes roasted and ground
down, and then flavoured with essence of marsh marigold, and found them
nearly as nice as macaroons. Then, having eaten quite as much as they
wanted, the tadpoles handed to each a leaf of the purest water, which
they drank with great satisfaction.
"Now," said Hugh, "we're quite ready for the concert. Shall I row out to
the middle of the lake, Monsieur Frog?"
"Midway between the shore and the island," said the frog; "that will be
the best position;" and, as by this time all the frogs that had been
sitting round the edge of the boat had disappeared, Hugh took the oars
and paddled away.