IN WHICH FLIP USES NEEDLESSLY LONG WORDS, BUT, TO WIN OUR GOOD-WILL
AGAIN, HE TELLS A REAL OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALE
For a perfectly good story-teller Flip had some rather queer ideas.
He didn’t believe in fairy tales: that is, the kind that told about
witches and Godmothers and Princes and such. He said he could not
explain just why--it had something to do with inefficient education.
Of course we do not know what “inefficient education” is, but Father
and Mother Dear know, so it must be all right. Nevertheless, everyone
knows that real fairy tales are nice even if they are not efficient
education, so one night, about an hour before bedtime, when the
children were all in the living-room before the fire, Martha Mary
asked if, please, Flip would tell one. Flip was in a particularly
good humor; there had been a thickish letter from someone during the
day, and of course the someone was Jane. So he agreed. Only he was
rather annoying; he started by using needlessly long words that no one
understood. He said they would have to “create the right atmosphere.”
John said he would, although he didn’t know what it meant. But Flip
didn’t alone. He put out all the lights so that there was only the
log fire to keep people from bumping. The flames really looked like a
witch’s fire, only there were no witches in the story. Then he heaped
cushions on the floor for Martha Mary to sit on; Flip had been very
polite to Martha Mary since Jane’s visit. Walter and Edward Lee lay on
their stomachs on a rug. Liza was the only one who was not there. Flip
piled some lovely-smelling pine cones on the fire, which sputtered and
flamed like a blacksmith’s forge, only didn’t smell at all the same.
“Once, in the days before Mother Dear was born, or Mother Dear’s
Grandmother, or her Grandmother’s Great Grandmother’s Great
Grandmother, which was many years ago,” said Flip, although everyone
knew that, “there lived a King whose lands were so great that it took
the birds a whole month to fly across them. He was the richest king
who lived in the days of the fairies. His chests were of the finest
gold, lined with purple satin, and in them were so many beautiful
emeralds and rubies that it would hurt your eyes to look at them. In
his garden grew the rarest of flowers; roses that had been brought
from England and yellowish brown and purple orchids from Brazil; iris,
lilac, cherry blossoms, and St. Joseph’s lilies were there, too, from
all the four corners of the earth. In his stables there were Arabian
horses and splendid dogs: deerhounds and greyhounds, and had there been
St. Bernards in those days, he no doubt would have had some of them,
too. In the Palace there were wonderful ancestral paintings, beautiful
furniture, table service of pure gold, and glass of the rarest cut.
Best of all, there was his very dear Queen Wife and the little prince
who would be King when he grew up. It was the sunniest of days when the
prince came. The Queen Mother had longed for a son and heir for a very
long time. She dreamed one night that when the King had grown to love
her very much she would be given a son; you know, there can only be
children where there is love. The dream made her more pure and lovely
than ever; her thoughts and her ways so delighted the King that he
learned to love her more than he thought a mortal could love. And so,
just as the rosebush grows until it is lovely and old and wise enough
to be a mother, and then the seed develops in it under the petals and
finally wins strength and goes away on the breeze to take root for
itself and become a rose child, so the seed was born within the Mother
Queen. While it was gaining strength within her, she kept her thought
cheerful and clean, so that when her child came he would be cheerful
and clean always. Then came the sunniest of days; just the day for a
Prince’s birth, and early in the morning the King was allowed to come
to his wife’s room and there, beside her, on a soft little cushion, was
his son, the Prince.
“You can well believe that the King was filled with gladness. He went
to the balcony of the Palace with the tiny baby in his arm and held it
up so that all the subjects could see it. They cheered and the bronze
church bells rang and there was gladness throughout the kingdom.
“From the wisest of the courtiers, guardians were chosen for the
Prince. There was the chief astrologer to teach him the knowledge that
was in books. The grey-haired old Lord of The Park taught him the
beauty of flowers and the song of the bird, and the Master of The Whip
showed him the correct way to trot a horse and the manner in which a
King’s son should hold his sword. So, surrounded by wealth and the
dearest of parents and the wisest of teachers, Prince Winfred grew
strong and wise. At the time of my story he was about ten years old,
the finest young prince you have ever seen, only of course you have
never seen a prince.
“You would think that, with all his wealth and splendor, he would be
perfectly happy, but he wasn’t. You see, one day he was riding down
the Park road on his white horse and he saw through the Castle gates a
farmer’s boy pass by on a burro. It was a perfectly good, young grey
burro with a collar of wild flowers and tinkling bells hanging from
it. As soon as Winfred saw it he knew that he did not have everything
in the world. He made up his mind that he wanted a burro very much. He
told his wish to old Esau, the astrologer, but Esau raised his hands
in horror and said it would be disgraceful and undignified for His
Grace to ride a burro. He would speak to the Master of The Whip, he
said, and order new horses. That was not what the Prince wished for;
he had plenty of horses already. He did not know just why he wanted
a burro; personally, I think I can guess. There was something simple
and modest in the small creature that would have been a welcome change
from the show and pomp of the Castle. So Winfred went to the Lord of
The Park and told him his desire; that proud official sneered rather
disrespectfully and said:
“‘Perhaps Your Highness desires a goat, too, to milk when you tire of
the burro.’
“Winfred almost lost his temper, but he remembered that Princes had to
be dignified, so he went to his father, the King, and in a most proper
fashion, said:
“‘Your Majesty, I have a request to make.’
“It pleased the King to be asked favors by his son, and so he smiled
and demanded what it might be.
“‘If it please you, Sire,’ said Winfred, ‘I would like a burro.’
“‘A burro?’ said the King. ‘What will you do with a burro?’
“‘Ride him,’ said Winfred.
“At first the King laughed at the idea of seeing his son and heir
astride a donkey, but when he found that the boy was serious he went
into a rage and Winfred crept away, miserable and frightened. Out into
the Park he went and lay down under a large oak, where he wept in a
most unprincely manner. He wept until the tears were smeared all over
his silk collar and ran down his neck. You should have seen him; one
would never have guessed that it was a prince sprawled there, for all
the world like a badly trained baby. He really was unhappy, though, so
you could not blame him altogether.
“He cried and cried until he heard a rustling above him in the tree.
He looked up, and perched on a branch just above his head was a
small person, not a great deal larger than a pocket-knife. It was a
girl-person, dressed in bright green, with the tiniest of green hats on
her bit of sunny hair. She looked down at Winfred and frowned.
“‘What do you want?’ demanded Winfred.
“‘Stop crying,’ said the girl-person.
“‘You are disrespectful,’ said Winfred. ‘I am the Prince.’
“‘I don’t care who you are,’ said the girl-person. ‘I wish you would
stop crying.’
“Winfred was so surprised at her lack of respect that he forgot to cry
for a moment, but he soon began again.
“‘Stop it, I say,’ said the little thing. ‘Stop it! I hate you when you
do that.’
“Winfred cried on.
“Then the girl-person commenced to coax. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘stop and
I will give you any wish you ask of me.’
“‘Why should I stop?’ asked Winfred. ‘And who are you that you can
grant wishes to a prince?’
“‘You should stop,’ said the girl-person, ‘because I hate tears, and I
can grant wishes, because I am a fairy.’
“‘That is very nice,’ said Winfred. ‘I’ve always wished to meet a
fairy. Are they all like you?’
“‘Silly,’ said the fairy. ‘Of course not. I am the laughter fairy; I go
about the world collecting children’s smiles and giving them to solemn
grown-ups. I’m much nicer than most of the fairies; I think I am the
nicest fairy there ever was.’
“‘You conceited creature,’ said Winfred. ‘You are not at all nice.’
“The fairy laughed and reached down a tiny foot and kicked Winfred in
the nose.
“‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really mean that. There are
other fairies as nice--almost--as I am. And I’m not a creature and I
wish you wouldn’t call me one. I’m a fairy and my name is--guess what?’
“‘Christine,’ guessed Winfred.
“‘How silly! Christine is not a fairy name at all. Christines are
always fat and good cooks. My name is Merrylip. Do you like it?’
“‘Pretty well,’ said Winfred. ‘What does it mean?’
“‘Nothing. It’s just a name, and names never mean anything.’
“‘Oh!’ said Winfred.
“All at once Merrylip commenced to laugh; laughed so hard that her
little foot got tangled in a spiderweb and she almost ruined the web
getting loose.
“‘Stop it,’ said Winfred. ‘I can’t see anything funny.’
“‘You are funny,’ said Merrylip.
“‘Why?’ demanded Winfred, and showed signs of remembering that he was
the King’s son and entitled to respect.
“‘Because,’ said Merrylip.
“‘Because what?’
“‘Because I asked you to stop crying and I talked to you a little and
you had to stop.’
“‘Didn’t. I stopped because you said you would grant me a wish.’
“‘I forgot,’ said Merrylip. ‘What do you want?’
“In a flash Winfred remembered what he wanted more than anything else
in the world.
“‘Please--a burro,’ he said.
“‘A burro?’ said Merrylip, much surprised. ‘Why in the world do you
waste a good wish on a burro? There are much nicer things than that to
ask for. Wish, why don’t you, for heaps of money, and then you can buy
anything!’
“‘I have plenty of money,’ said Winfred. ‘And all the treasures I want.
But a burro is different. You can’t just buy them; you have to be born
not a prince to have one. I wish I was a train-engineer or a policeman
or a farmhand. A prince has so many duties that it is tiresome. When I
am King I shall have a whole stable full of burros.’
“‘Then you won’t enjoy them at all,’ said Merrylip. She was really wise
for such a small fairy. ‘You’ll get tired of them. People always do
when they have finally got what they wanted very much.’
“‘I wouldn’t,’ said Winfred. ‘I am different.’
“‘I bet you,’ said Merrylip.
“‘Bet what?’
“‘Bet I will show you something nicer than a burro; even nicer than two
burros. You’ll be perfectly happy for two hours--then you’ll want to
be a prince again and forget everything else.’
“‘You just say that because you are a girl,’ said Winfred. ‘Girls never
understand boys.’
“‘I’ll prove it,’ said Merrylip. ‘Come under my cape.’
“‘I can’t,’ said Winfred. ‘I’m too big.’
“‘That is easy,’ said Merrylip. ‘You must kiss me on my ear, then see
what happens.’
“‘Kisses are horrid,’ said Winfred. Still he was not going to take
any chances of not having his wish, so he reached up and just put the
smallest kind of a kiss on Merrylip’s ear. It tasted like marshmallows.
As soon as he touched her, Winfred began to grow small. You have never
seen a boy as small as he became--about so big. Then he climbed up and
drew Merrylip’s cape over him and away they went. Up over the very
tops of the trees, out across the Castle wall, down into the valley,
pop over a stream, high again so as not to bump into a fat old oak,
and--before you knew it--they were right above the city. Far below them
were the people, walking about, and they didn’t, any of them, look
larger than Merrylip.
“‘Now,’ said Merrylip. ‘Be ready!’
“Down they swooped right to the middle of the street, where a whole
dozen children were playing London Bridges. They were rather dirty
children; their clothes were not at all nice and their hair was mussed.
As soon as the Prince’s feet touched the cobblestones, he became his
natural size. Merrylip disappeared altogether, but Winfred heard her
buzzing about his ear, telling him what to do.
“You can imagine how surprised all the children were when they found
that a strange boy had popped up out of nowhere. They gathered around
him and shouted, ‘Who are you?’
“Winfred was going to say, ‘The King’s Son,’ but Merrylip whispered in
his ear, so he just said, ‘Winfred.’
“The children didn’t care very much who he was, after all. You see,
Merrylip had touched his clothes with her lavender stick and they had
become old and dirty just like those of the others. They decided that
they would start another game: Rum-ba-loo-pum-ba-loo. The oldest of
them counted out loud:
“‘Eny, meny, miny, mo. Catch a fairy by the toe. If he hollers let
him go. Fairy, meny, miny, mo. O-U-T spells out, with the Old Mother
Witch’s hat turned in--side--out.’ And Winfred was out.
“‘But I don’t know how to play,’ said Winfred.
“‘It’s perfectly easy!’ they shouted. ‘You know, the one who is out is
It.’
“‘How can you be It if you are Out?’ asked Winfred.
“They couldn’t explain, but that was the way it was played. The one who
was Out was It, and he or she was called Mrs. Rumbaloopumbaloo. She had
to be the old witch and live on a stump of a tree. That was all the
home she had. Then the children came up and said:
“‘Mother Rumbaloopumbaloo, what are you thinking of?’
“Rumbaloopumbaloo would say the first letter of the word. If it
was ice cream, she would say ‘I’; if it was music, she would say
‘M,’ and so on. Then, if one of the children guessed right, Mother
Rumbaloopumbaloo would chase them all and the one who was caught was It.
“Up to Winfred came the children and said:
“‘Mother Rumbaloopumbaloo, what are you thinking of?’
“‘It begins with B,’ said Winfred.
“‘Books,’ said one.
“‘Nope.’
“‘Bells?’
“‘Nope.’
“‘Beans?’
“‘No.’
“Then a little girl, whom no one had noticed before, said:
“‘I know. It’s a burro.’
“‘Uhu!’ shouted Winfred, and chased them down the street. He caught the
little girl who had guessed rightly and whispered to her:
“‘How did you know?’
“‘Silly, silly,’ said the girl, for it was Merrylip, grown big.
“They played for a very long time, and Winfred was never so happy
before.
“‘Isn’t this nicer than a burro?’ asked Merrylip, and Winfred said:
“‘A thousand times nicer.’
“After a while they all were tired and didn’t think the game was fun
any more, so they took up their hats and started for home.
“‘You can come home with me for lunch if you want,’ said one of the
boys to Winfred. Winfred whispered to Merrylip, and she said he might,
so they went. Only Merrylip made herself small again and hid in the
Prince’s pocket. They came to a small hut, and the boy, whose name
was Michael, rushed in with Winfred after him. They threw their hats
on a chair and shouted, and in came a woman, all fat and grey, with a
gingham apron. Michael jumped into her arms and shouted: ‘Mother, I’ve
brought a boy to lunch. His name is Winfred.’
“The fat Mother kissed Winfred; then they sat down in the kitchen and
had oodles of beans and black bread.
“‘Isn’t this nicer than burros?’ whispered Merrylip.
“‘A thousand times nicer,’ whispered Winfred.
“‘And nicer than dinner at home with servants all about?’
“‘A thousand times nicer.’
“When they couldn’t eat any more, the old Mother went to sleep in her
chair, and Winfred said good-by to Michael and went out.
“‘Where now?’ he asked Merrylip.
“‘Now the best of all,’ she answered.
“Down the road they went to a large field, where a grey burro was
eating grass.
“‘Get on,’ said Merrylip. Winfred patted the burro on the nose, then
climbed up. Away they went, much faster than burros usually travel,
rushing across the fields till the wind hummed about Winfred’s ears
like music. They galloped up across the hills and down into new grass
valleys that Winfred had never seen before.
“‘Isn’t this nice?’ shouted Merrylip.
“‘There is nothing nicer in the world!’ Winfred shouted back.
“‘Silly,’ said Merrylip.
“On and on they rode until Winfred grew tired.
“‘Please,’ he said, ‘I would like to stop, now.’
“Immediately the burro disappeared and Winfred was standing under a
tree, with Merrylip next to him.
“‘Where do you want to go now?’ she asked.
“‘I’m hungry,’ said Winfred.
“‘Shall we go to the old Mother’s and have more beans?’
“‘I’d rather have fried chicken and strawberries,’ said Winfred.
“‘But the old Mother only eats beans.’
“‘I can eat at home,’ said Winfred.
“‘I’m tired of burros.’
“‘Don’t you want to go back and play with the children?’
“‘No, they were dirty and disrespectful.’
“‘You are horrid,’ said Merrylip. ‘But I knew you would be this way.’
“She thought a moment, frowning the tiniest, most adorable frown.
“Then, ‘I hate boys,’ she said, ‘especially selfish ones. I am going to
punish you for growing tired so quickly of the things you wanted more
than anything else in the world.’
“All at once there came a rush of wind, and Winfred was alone, and, to
his horror, as tiny as a string bean.
“‘Merrylip!’ he called. ‘Don’t leave me alone! I am frightened.’
“But there was no answer.
“Again he called: ‘I can’t go home if you don’t come! My feet are so
small and my legs so tiny that I never would get there!’
“Still there was no answer.
“So how do you think he got home?”
None of the children could guess.
“Well,” said Flip, “it is nine o’clock and you all ought to be in bed.
So I’m not going to tell you another word, and there will be a second
chapter to-morrow night.”
“Please, please!” the children all shouted. “We want to know now.”
“Not a word,” said Flip.
Then suddenly Walter sprang on to Flip’s stomach and Edward Lee sat on
his face and Walter shouted for help. John got a rope, and with the
aid of Martha Mary they tied Flip to the leg of the library table. The
noise was something terrific. In rushed Mother Dear and Father.
“Here, here!” said Father. “What is the noise about?”
“Please,” said Martha Mary, “Walter is a hero and Flip is a villain.”
Then Mother Dear laughed, and when Mother laughs Father always laughs,
too. It really is quite funny to see Mother laugh. She is becoming just
the least bit stout. Well, when Father laughed, the children jumped on
him, too, and tied him to another leg of the table. Father tried to
look scandalized, but you could see a laugh lurking out of the corner
of his mouth.
Said he, “I consider this very undignified.”
“No,” said Walter, “it is jail. You have to give bail before you can
get out.”
“And may I ask how much the bail is?” asked Father, digging his hand
into his money pocket.
“It’s not that kind of a bail,” said Edward Lee. “Mother Dear, what
shall the bail be?”
Mother Dear had a splendid idea. “We’ll punish Father,” she said, “by
making Flip sing, and punish Flip by making Father sing.”
Father did not want to, but the children would not let him go, so he
sang in an awful, awful voice:
“There once was a silly old whale
Who drowned himself in a pail.
Amongst folks it is said
There was room for his head,
But not the least bit for his tail.”
“Oh, oh!” moaned Flip. “Spare me, spare me!”
So they spared him, but made him sing to torture Father. Then it was
the most surprising thing. He sang in the softest, nicest voice,
a voice that just seemed to fit in with the firelight and the
“atmosphere”:
“Way up above the blackest trees that tease the sky at night
A million young star children dance a merry, fairy dance.
The fat old moon comes through the clouds and giggles with delight
To see the myriad youngsters as they skip and hop and prance.
Then, when the night is growing old and skies are fading grey
A mother star comes softly out a lullaby to hum.
She warns the dancing children of the coming of the day,
For a very careful Mother is Mrs. Rumdidoodledum.”
Then the children looked out of the window and, sure enough, Lady
Rumdidoodledum was just appearing, big and bright, above the pine trees.
“Flip,” coaxed Martha Mary, “don’t you think you could tell us just a
bit of how Winfred got home?”
“To-morrow night,” said Flip, and so everyone said good night and went
to bed.