“Well, I never!”
And all the courtiers said the same.
“Tony means Me,” said the King.
The courtiers said that of course it did.
“I am King Tony XXIII.,” said he.
And the courtiers said of course he was.
They all spoke at once like a chorus.
“I was christened Anthony, of course,” his restless Majesty went on,
fidgeting with his gold collar; “but I know that my subjects have
always spoken of me behind my back by the endearing diminutive.”
The courtiers assured the King that this was so.
“I suppose there’s no one else called Tony?” The King turned a
threatening glance on the crowd, and every one hastened to say “No,
there wasn’t.” But old Tony turned extremely pale, and hurrying into
the vestry, he tampered with the register of births, and altered his
own name to Sydney Cecil Ernest Watchett.
But young Tony spoke up. “My name’s Tony,” said he.
“Oh, is it?” said His Majesty. “We’ll soon see about that. Guards,
seize him! Now, what is your name?”
“Tony,” said he.
“Your name is not Tony,” said the King, “your name is——” he could not
think of a name at the moment, so he stopped.
Tony said, “My name is Tony.”
“Take him to the Parliament House,” said the King, beside himself with
rage. “Give him a taste of the Mace,” and Tony tasted the Mace and was
stamped on by the Great Seal, who was very fierce and lived in a cage
at the Parliament House, until he was stiff and sore and sorry enough
to be glad to say that his name was anything the King liked, except
Tony, which of course it never, never could have been. He admitted at
last that his name was William Waterbury Watchett, and was discharged
with a caution.
[Illustration: TONY WAS STAMPED ON BY THE GREAT SEAL, WHO WAS VERY
FIERCE.]
“But my name _is_ Tony after all,” he said to himself as he went home,
full of sad memories of the Mace and the Great Seal. “I wonder where
the Blue Mountain is?”
Young Tony thought a good deal about poor Henry Birkbeck’s prophecy.
Perhaps the Great Seal had stamped it on his memory. Anyway he could
not forget it, and all the next day he was wandering about on the steep
edge of the town, looking out over the landscape below. It was not an
interesting landscape. All round the brown hill where the town was lay
the vast forests of green trees, something like bamboos, whose fruit
the people ate; and beyond that one could see the beginnings of a still
larger forest, where none of the people of Antioch had ever dared to
go—the forest, whose leaves were a hundred times as big as the King
himself, and the trunks of the trees as big as whole countries. Above
all was the blue sky—but, look as Tony would, he could see no blue
mountain.
Then suddenly he saw the largest forest shake and shiver—its enormous
leaves swaying this way and that.
“It must be an earthquake,” said Tony, trembling, but he did not run
away. And his valour was rewarded as valour deserves to be. The next
moment the vast branches of the enormous forest parted, and a giant
figure came out into the forest of bamboo-like trees. It was a figure
more gigantic than Tony had ever imagined possible. It had long yellow
hair. In its hand it carried a great white bowl, big enough to float
a navy in. If such an expression did not sound rather silly, I should
say that this figure gave Tony the idea of a little-girl-giant. It
sat down among the bamboo forest, crushing millions of trees as it
sat. With a spoon twice the length of the King’s banqueting hall, it
began to eat out of the tremendous basin. Tony saw great lumps, like
blocks of soft marble, balanced on the vast spoon, and he knew that the
giant-little-girl was eating giant-bread-and-milk. And she wore a giant
frock, and the frock was blue. Then Tony understood. This was the “Blue
Mountain,” and in that big big sea of a basin there was milk—the Blue
Mountain’s milk.
Tony stood still for a moment, then turned and ran as hard as he could
straight into the Royal presence. To be more exact, he ran into the
Royal waistcoat, for the King, in a hurry, as usual, was coming out of
his palace gates with a rush. The King was extremely annoyed. He
refused to listen to a word Tony had to say until Parliament had been
called together, and had passed a Bill strengthening the enactments
against cheek. Then he allowed Tony to tell his tale. And when the tale
was told every one ran to the battlements of the town to look. There
was no blue mountain to be seen.
[Illustration: THE GIANT-LITTLE-GIRL.]
Then his Majesty told Tony what he thought of him, and it was not
pleasant hearing.
“I am not a liar,” said Tony; “I am very sorry I told you anything
about it; I might jolly well have gone and got it for myself. _My_ name
is——William——Waterbury——Watchett.” He stopped in confusion.
“I should think it was,” said the King; “if there is any mountain,
which I don’t for a moment believe, you had better go and fetch me some
of the milk (not that I think there is any) out of the mountain’s basin
(which I cannot believe exists outside of your imagination). If you
bring it to this address you will be suitably rewarded.”
“All right,” said Tony; “shall I fetch it in a jug, or will they lend
me a can?”
“I will lend you my mug,” said the King; “and mind you bring it back
full.”
So Tony took the mug. It had “For a good little King. A present from
Antwerp,” on it. And he kissed his grandfather, and started off on his
long, perilous journey.
“I suppose he will give me a reward if I get it,” he thought, “and if
not, well, it’s an adventure, anyway.”
He passed through the crowded streets, where every one was rushing
about in the usual frantic haste, and out at the town gates, and down
the road into the forest. The trunks of the trees towered tall and
straight above, and a subdued green light shone all about him.
The ground was very broken and uneven, and often Tony had to go a long
way round to avoid some great rock or chasm. But he travelled fast, for
he was a quick walker, and he did not miss the way once, although, of
course, it was quite a strange country to him.
There had been evening classes at his school to teach the boys the art
of finding their way in strange places, and Tony had attended all the
lectures and taken notice as well as notes. And now he was able to
practise what he had learned, and he was glad he had not wasted his
time in drawing pictures of the masters, or playing nibs with the boys
next him, and throwing ink pellets at more studious boys.
But the journey was longer than he expected, and the mug was rather in
his way. He was very much afraid of breaking that mug: it is an awkward
thing to break a mug with “A present for a good King” on it. It is so
difficult to replace. There are very few of those mugs made nowadays.
There is little or no demand for them.
But at last the green light of the forest began to grow brighter, and
Tony saw that he was approaching a sort of clearing among the trees, so
he put his best foot foremost, without stopping to think which was his
worst foot—always a mistake when you are tired and footsore.
And now he came out from under the tall branches, and saw a round open
space in the forest, where millions of fallen trees lay on the ground.
And he knew that this was the spot where the mountain had sat down to
eat its unimaginable enormous breakfast. But there was no mountain to
be seen, and Tony knew that he could do nothing but sit down and wait,
in the hope that the Blue Mountain would come next morning to eat its
breakfast in the same place.
So he looked about for a place to rest safely in, and presently found
just what he wanted—a little cave, whose walls and roof were of dried
earth—and there he stayed all that day and night, eating the fruit of
the fallen trees.
And next morning there was a rustling and a swaying of the trees, and
the Blue Mountain came striding over the tall tree-tops, bending down
the forest as she came on colossal black legs and massive shoes with
monstrous ankle straps. Each shoe was big enough to have crushed a
hundred Tonys at one step. So he hid in his cave, and presently knew by
the shaking of the ground, like an earthquake, that the mountain had
sat down.
Then he came out. He was too near to see the mountain properly, but
he saw a great blue-fold of giant frock near him, and far above him
towered the blue heights of the giant-little-girl’s knees. On the
summit of these shone a vast white round—the great bread-and-milk basin.
Tony started to climb the blue-fold. It was stiff, starched—with giant
starch, I suppose—and it bore his weight easily. But it was a long
climb, and he drew a deep breath of thankfulness when he reached the
broad table-land of the giant-little-girl’s knees—and now the smooth
china roundness of the big basin was before him. He tried its polished
surface again and again, and always fell back baffled. Then he saw
that he might climb up the sleeve of the gigantic arm whose hand held
the basin. With his heart in his mouth he began the ascent, slowly
and carefully, holding the precious mug closely to his breast. His
breath came faster and faster as he went up and up, and at last stood
triumphantly on the edge of the great blue sleeve. From there to the
edge of the basin it was easy to crawl, and now at last he stood on
the giddy verge of the monstrous basin, and looked down at the lake of
milk with the rocks of bread in it, many feet below. The great height
made him giddy. He lost his footing, and still clasping the mug, he
fell headlong into the giant-bread-and-milk. The bread rocks were
fortunately soft. Tony picked himself up. He was wet, but no bones were
broken, and the mug—oh, joy! the mug was safe. Tony looked it over
anxiously as he sat on a rock, a sloppy and uncertain resting place.
There was only one small crack near the handle, and Tony was almost
sure that that had been there before.
“I don’t know however I shall get out again,” said Tony; “perhaps I
never shall, but in case I do, I suppose I had better fill the mug”;
so he stooped from the rocks and filled the mug from the lake of milk,
which was much thicker than the milk of the green cows with wings, the
only milk Tony was used to. He had just filled the mug and tied it down
with a piece of parchment which he had taken from the Town Records and
brought with him for the purpose, when a noise like thunder suddenly
broke on his ear. And indeed it very nearly broke the ear itself, and
so startled Tony that the precious mug all but slipped from his grasp.
Then a wave of milk swept up almost over his head. The whole of the
massive basin was moved sideways. Then came a shock like an earthquake.
The basin was being set on the ground. Tony felt that the Blue Mountain
had seen him and had screamed. What would the giant-little-girl do?
Would she kill him? If so, how?
These questions afforded Tony food for some interesting reflections
during the next few moments.
He looked round him for a way of escape. Everywhere towered the smooth
white walls. The tremendous spoon which he had seen the Blue Mountain
use had, unfortunately, not been left in the basin, or he could
have climbed out by that. He gave himself up for lost. Then suddenly
he saw the trunk of a slender tree appear at the edge of the basin. It
was pushed down towards him. Yes on to the very bread-rock on which
he crouched. Would it crush him? No! The end of it rested on the rock
by his side; it gently moved towards him. He saw now that the Blue
Mountain was not cruel. She was not bent on destroying him. She was
offering him a way of escape. He eagerly climbed the tree. When he was
half-way up, however, the giant-little-girl flung the tree aside, and
with Tony still clinging to it, it fell crashing into the forest. When
he came to himself he almost shouted for joy to find the mug still
whole.
[Illustration: TONY AMONG THE ROCKS IN THE BREAD-AND-MILK BASIN.]
He never knew how he got home.