AUSTRALIAN FAIRY TALES.
Australian Fairy Tales.] [Frontispiece
“The globe slowly split in twain.” (Page 32.)
AUSTRALIAN FAIRY TALES.
BY
ATHA WESTBURY.
ILLUSTRATED BY A. J. JOHNSON.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK, & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
1897
All rights reserved.
[[5]]
CONTENTS.
[[7]]
LIST OF FULL-PAGE AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.
[[9]]
AUSTRALIAN FAIRY TALES.
GOLDEN CLOUD.
A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
CHAPTER I.
THE LONE ROCK.
Australia! Hast thou no enchanted castles within thy vast domain? Is there not one gallant youth, ready armed to do battle for the fair ones, sleeping ’neath the spell of wicked genii?
Come, youngsters, draw up your chairs. Come, mothers, ye who live your romantic girlhood o’er again in that of your children. Form up, gentlemen, fathers, hard men of the world, whose brows are wrinkled with care and worry, take rank in rear of your fair helpmates. Merchant, lock thy safe, close thy ledgers; horny-handed sons of toil, [[10]]throw aside your implements of trade; gather near. I am going to draw aside the magic curtain which hides the great continent, marked on our map UNKNOWN. Turn down the lights—our magic lantern is quite ready. Hey presto! Look!
Why, what is this? The heart of a deep mine! A gold mine, with all its dim and rugged corridors, its tunnels and windings, lighted only by a dull taper here and there. There is no one at work, for it is Christmas Eve. Yet the underground region is not altogether untenanted. One man whose duty it is to watch the place, until relieved on the morrow, lies coiled up asleep in one of the long drives. He is a young man, not tall, but strongly made, and with limbs like another Hercules. On account of his great strength and a certain good temper combined, his mates call him, Samson the Nugget.
For what length of time the Nugget slumbered on this good Christmas Eve will never be known. Certain it is that he suddenly opened his eyes and beheld one of the biggest, and withal one of the ugliest, hulking fellows he had ever seen standing over him. The Nugget was a brave youth, but fear began to take possession of him as he looked at the intruder—a giant in stature, with a huge, flat head upon his shoulder, and a mouth as large, [[11]]and about the shape of the newspaper receiver at the General Post Office. He carried a lamp in his hand, but there was a queer sheen from his eyes, which illumined the cavern with a fiery glow. His dress was a brown russet, his hat, sugar-loaf in shape, and he carried a sapling for a cudgel.
“Get up, Samson the Nugget, and follow me,” said he in a brief, gruff tone.
“Who are you?” cried our hero, rising to his feet, and seizing a heavy iron drill.
“I am the strongest man in Golden Cloud, and my name is Grapple,” rejoined the other grimly. “Will you come?”
“Where?” said the Nugget. “There is no way out of this mine except by the cage up the shaft.”
“That’s all you know about it,” returned Grapple, with a grim laugh. “If I find a way, have you courage to follow?”
The Nugget felt inclined to refuse point blank, but curiosity being strong within him, he bowed an assent.
Grapple, without a word, turned on his heel and led the way further down the dark recesses of the tunnel. Our hero followed. Of one thing the miner felt certain—that the end of the drive would [[12]]effectually bar the progress of his unwelcome visitor. Strange to relate, such was not the case.
The narrow passage appeared to extend and widen out before their advance, until it took the shape of a long railway tunnel, from which the pair emerged at length into the bright beams of day. The transit from what seemed to be the bowels of a high mountain range to a landscape fairer and more beautiful than our hero had ever seen, filled his mind with wonder. His companion, now that daylight was upon him, did not seem such an ugly customer after all. He was certainly a huge, grotesque-looking personage, but there wasn’t a bit of malice in anything he said or did.
Our hero’s amazement was so great, that it was some considerable time before he found words wherewith to address his companion.
“What country is this?” he asked, turning to Grapple.
“This is Golden Cloud.”
“Golden Cloud! I never heard of such a place. Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I wanted a companion on my travels,” rejoined the other. “I heard you were a very strong man, and I determined to fetch you out of that dismal mine, so that you might enjoy your Christmas holidays with me.” [[13]]
“Oh, indeed! very considerate on your part, my friend, but what if I return to the mine?” said the Nugget.
“You can’t—not without my aid,” responded Grapple. “Now don’t be a fool. I’m going on a sort of excursion into the interior, and I want a companion. We shall not be long away, and I promise to lead you safely back to the place from whence you came as soon as we return.”
The Nugget reflected. He felt a strong desire to see something of this most charming country. Besides, he saw that this strange creature had uttered the truth. He could not possibly find his way back to the mine alone.
Here it must be remarked that, although our hero was only a miner, he possessed both intelligence and culture, not usually found in men of his class. He had read much, and had a longing for the romantic, and in short, in less time than it takes to write this sentence, Samson the Nugget had resolved to go on a holiday tour with his quaint companion.
It is needless to describe their journey for the first two days; suffice it that the route lay through the tangled maze of a pathless forest of noble trees, where branches intertwining overhead formed a leafy canopy for many miles. On the third day [[14]]Grapple and his companion emerged upon a wide, extensive plain. Towering in the distance, like a pyramid, they observed a gigantic rock standing out above the level expanse around. The sun, gleaming upon its peaks and spires, gave it a weird, fantastic look, as if some great magician of the olden time had bade it rise with the lifting of his wand. As far as the vision reached along the line of the horizon, the plain seemed ringed in by the magnificent bushland through which they had come. Nearer, however, there was a broad river flowing its slow way round the lone cliff; the sheen of its waves forming a massive girdle, which flashed back the sun’s rays a thousandfold.
The evening was drawing nigh as the Nugget and Grapple approached the lofty crag, and they determined to pass the night beneath its sheltering base. For this purpose they crossed a ford on the river, and ascended a wide slope of rich, green sward, softer than velvet, and entered an enclosed space, which had evidently been a most lovely garden at one time. To the gaze of our hero it appeared nothing but a mass of weeds and ragged, bare shrubs, under which a whole multitude of kangaroos, emus, wallabies, wild goats, and native bears were gathered in wild confusion. [[15]]
The Nugget was filled with amazement as he beheld these animals. Their number was countless, and the tameness with which they submitted to be fondled was more extraordinary still. Indeed, they never moved as the two men strode through their ranks, no more than if they had been so many posts wanting life and movement. The astonishment of our hero was in no way diminished as they reached the western face of the supposed rock. Here they saw a broad flight of steps leading towards a ponderous gateway. The gate stood wide open, and on either side, mounted on pillars of granite, were the carved figures of two gigantic black fellows, each leaning on a spear. Grapple and his companion entered the portal, and found themselves in a lofty corridor, supported by massive columns of polished masonry. To the right and left of them, as they advanced, splendid apartments, vast in their dimensions, and upholstered with costly furniture, met their gaze. It was not the magnitude of the place, nor the fine things therein, which filled them with such speechless amazement, but the wonderful statuary they saw. These figures were in every room, and were so life-like in their dimensions and appearance, that the Nugget was fain to believe that they were flesh and blood. Ladies [[16]]and gentlemen were represented quite naturally, and in various places and functions. Yonder a group were seated round the banquet in the act of eating. There another group, mostly ladies, gossipping and laughing. Some had been chiselled walking, some kneeling, others hissing, many reading. The same view met the travellers from one end of this strange mansion to the other. Nothing could seem more substantial, more real, than these beautiful models, attired as they were in robes of gorgeous hue and texture, but foreign and altogether unfamiliar to our hero, who often touched them with his hand. Twenty times he addressed them, but not one answered. They were only images, nothing more. Body, limbs, robes—all were cold and hard as stone to the touch.
Their curiosity appeased, our hero and his companion selected a small but comfortable apartment wherein to pass the night. They had killed a kangaroo the previous day, from the remains of which they dined; then they retired, and both were soon fast asleep.
The Nugget had scarcely closed his eyes, however, ere he was roused by the application of a hard whack on the drum of his left ear.
Now it chanced that Grapple lay on that side of the Nugget and judging hastily, as people are [[17]]apt to do under similar conditions, our hero sprang up, and began to pound his bedfellow soundly.
“Hold! stop! What is this all about?” cried poor Grapple.
“Did you not give me a blow?” demanded the Nugget fiercely.
“I? Certainly not.”
“Oh, indeed! I suppose the man in the moon did it. There are only two of us here, sir,” cried the Nugget.
“I’ll swear I did not do it. Your blows awakened me.”
“Humph! It is very strange,” cried they, and they grumbled at each other until they fell asleep again.
Not long did the pair enjoy repose. This time Grapple started up with a yell of agony.
“Coward!” he cried, and without further warning he fell upon the Nugget and tried to choke him. We have said that Samson was a powerful fellow. Exerting the full force of his muscles, he overpowered his adversary, and briefly demanded an explanation.
“Wretched, false friend! what have I done that you should stab me with your knife?” cried Grapple, with a groan. [[18]]
The young miner burst out in a hearty guffaw.
“Look here, my friend,” he replied quickly, “I think both of us have been the dupes of some rascally enemies hereabout. I receive a thump on the ear, you a wound in the leg, when both of us are sound asleep. Mum! Let us to slumber again. Daylight will be here anon; in the meantime, I will keep watch to discover our lurking foe.”
Grapple assented. Having bound up his leg the travellers lay down again as if nothing had happened.
The Nugget, however, slept like a cat, otherwise he would not have seen the most withered, and, at the same time, most repulsive-looking individual in the world stealing noiselessly out on tip-toe from behind one of the statues in the corridor. The day was breaking, and every object could be clearly distinguished. Watching the intruder, our hero saw he was a dwarf, and a very ugly one. The body of the wee monster was like an ale keg, from which protruded short, sturdy limbs. His hands were dreadfully large, the skin knobbed and gnarled like the bark of a tree. A head, the counterpart of a Christmas pudding with a slice cut out for a mouth, a parsnip for a nose, and a pair of agates for eyes, and you have a rough photograph of the wretch that now advanced as [[19]]stealthily as a shadow toward our hero and his companion.
As he drew near the prostrate pair he stooped over the Nugget to inflict a blow on his head. Our hero bounded up and tried to catch his foe. Vain effort. With the agility and quickness of a professional wrestler, the dwarf upset the astonished digger as if he had been no more than a schoolboy; then, fleeing along the corridor, he cleared the steps of the gate at one bound and ran swiftly across the garden towards the river.
CHAPTER II.
MOTHER DOT.
Samson the Nugget was taken “all aback,” as the sailors say, at the unexpected attack of his wee but nimble opponent. Yet, before the dwarf had time to reach the garden wall, our hero was up and pursued his foe. Like a kangaroo when the hunters are in full cry, the little man bounded down the slope leading to the river, over the stream, and away across the open space, with prodigious leaps rather than with the stride of a runner. Tally-ho! A stern chase is a long chase, but in this case the adage could not be applied, [[20]]inasmuch as our hero was sound in wind and limb, and, moreover, he was a sturdy pedestrian.
“OUR HERO WENT SPRAWLING HEADLONG OVER HIM.”
He soon gained upon his antagonist, when the latter, ready and fertile in devices, adopted tactics which gave him an advantage, and enabled him to over-reach his pursuer. They were on the edge of the bushland which bordered the plain, and the dwarf, slacking speed, suffered Samson to approach within arm’s length, when, turning suddenly, he cast himself flat down, whereupon our hero went sprawling headlong over him. Laughing [[21]]triumphantly, the dwarf sprang to his feet, and jumped off again in the cover of the bush.
As the miner recovered himself and resumed the pursuit, he observed the chase unexpectedly disappear from view behind a tuft of coarse grass and weeds growing at the base of a gigantic blood-tree. Thinking the antic sprite was forming another trap, the young miner approached the spot cautiously. It was lucky he did so, for in parting the rubbish aside he discovered a wide, deep hole, about the dimensions of an ordinary well. There were neither steps nor ladder down this gaping pit, whose bottom lay far beneath the ken of Samson the Nugget, who stood gazing down the dim void, wondering if the little monster had vanished down it by some potent agency only known to himself. Watching and waiting, Samson satisfied himself that the dwarf had certainly gone down the hole, and he determined to follow him.
With this object in view, our hero marked the spot and retraced his way to the rock. Grapple still slept soundly. Not wishing to disturb him, the Nugget proceeded to the rear of the premises, where he found a long stout rope. With it he returned to the well. Having securely fastened one end of the rope to the tree, he threw the remainder down the chasm, and then began to [[22]]descend hand over hand. It cannot be denied that this was a dangerous undertaking, but the Nugget, being a digger, and not lacking in pluck, the cost was not considered. From the first moment our hero had set eyes on the little monster it had somehow come to him that the sprite was in some mysterious manner connected with all the ruin and wreck he had seen at the rock.
Clinging firmly to the rope, the Nugget descended until he reached the end of it. Looking far down he beheld the same dark void, apparently bottomless. While he swayed to and fro like a toy at the end of a string, his pendant body thumped against something that sounded dull and hollow, and he saw he had burst open a secret door in the wall. Planting his foot firmly on the threshold of the aperture, the adventurer let go the rope and found himself in a low, arched cavern. The extremity brought him face to face with a bright landscape, varying both in hue and shade from the region he had just quitted. Right before him a tiny cascade of pure spring water spurted from the breast of the cliff on which he stood, and meandered its course through a belt of trees so quiet and silent that our hero felt appalled at its stillness. There was a broad, well-worn pathway down into the dell, and the Nugget [[23]]made his way thither. As he walked smartly along, looking right and left of him, he espied a very ancient dame seated upon a bundle of firewood she had evidently gathered. By her side were two large baskets of wild fruit.
“Good-morrow, ma’am,” cried the miner, courteously lifting his hat. “Pray have you seen a very ugly little man pass this way?”
“My son, all men are lovely in my eyes,” replied the crone, and she looked at him with eyes that gleamed like the orbs of a cat in the darkness. “Do you know, I’m right glad you came this way. You look strong. Will you carry my parcels for me?”
“Certainly I will,” replied the Nugget cheerfully. “Where do you live?”
“My hut stands on the range yonder, on the other side of this bush. Dear me, how tired I am to be sure!”
How her cat’s eyes glowed as she looked at him! The Nugget did not see nor heed anything about the old woman; his whole thoughts were centred on the capture of his foe.
“Come, madam,” said he, “one good turn deserves another. Tell me where I may find the fellow I seek, and I’ll carry your goods and yourself on top of them.” [[24]]
“Oh, good youth, haste is a bad master. If you seek for Dusk in haste, you’ll never find him.”
“Dusk! Who’s Dusk, mother?”
“The dwarf you came to find,” she answered quickly. “Beware, he’s a cunning sprite.”
The Nugget laughed. “I should only like the opportunity to measure weapons with the cowardly little imp,” he said. “Have you seen him?”
“Yes; he passed this way not an hour ago,” she answered.
“Thank you, dame. I’m off!” exclaimed our hero, hastily preparing to follow.
“Nay, good sir, you promised to carry my things,” responded the dame.
“Bother your things! I’ll return and carry them when I’ve caught Mr. Dusk.”
“You will have trouble for nothing if you try it,” she replied, her eyes glowing like coals of fire. “Fulfil your promise to me and I will help you.”
“Agreed,” cried our hero. “Make haste, good dame. Place the sticks upon my back and the baskets on my arms. That’s it. Now come along.”
Samson the Nugget, strong and powerful as he undoubtedly was, pulled a wry face as the load was put upon his person. The bundle of firewood [[25]]seemed as heavy to him as so many bars of solid gold, while the baskets appeared to have been suddenly freighted with ingots of lead, the weight of which almost took away his breath. Nevertheless, our hero, nothing daunted, made an effort, and proceeded onward with his burden. Now, so long as the Nugget trod on level ground he managed pretty well, but when he came to the range and began its ascent, with the loose stones rolling from under his feet at every step, the man’s immense muscular strength began to fail. Drops of perspiration stood upon his face and ran down his back, now hot, now cold.
“My good woman!” he cried, “I can go no farther till I have rested.”
“Rested!” repeated the hag in scornful accents. “Hear the boaster. This is the man in search of Dusk, the strong. Hear him! He would attack the all-powerful genii; and yet, forsooth, he cannot carry what an old woman like me has so often borne up hill and down dale. Faugh!”
The Nugget put up his back like a vicious mule, and attempted to get rid of his load; but the sticks and the baskets clung to him as if these articles had grown there.
“Will you go on, sir?” cried the crone, with a mocking laugh. [[26]]
The Nugget answered not; but with a vigorous effort tried to rid himself of the encumbrance. Vain task; his efforts only wearied him. Moreover, the hag made matters worse by jumping up upon the bundle of sticks; and though lean and withered as she certainly appeared, our hero felt her additional weight to be more than that of the stoutest wench of his acquaintance. To kick against the pricks was useless. So Samson, like a wise fellow, staggered on as he best could to the end of his journey. Arrived at the hut, the dame became kindness itself. She placed food and drink of the choicest kind before him, and when he had refreshed himself, said,—
“Young man, your task has been a severe one, but the reward I shall bestow will be all the greater on that account. For over twenty years no one has ever been found who could carry my parcels for me until to-day.”
“I don’t care to go shopping with you again in a hurry,” muttered the Nugget, stretching out his tired limbs.
“I have neither money nor property to give you,” she continued; “but my gift shall be more valuable to you than both combined. Behold! This is the horn of an enchanted ram. The animal was bred by my great grandsire, the King of [[27]]Moonshine, and the relic has been handed down to me. Take it, my son, and let me caution you to use its wonderful power wisely. With that in your possession, Dusk, the griffin, cannot escape you. For whatever you may wish for this relic shall supply.”
With these words Mother Dot placed in the young man’s hand a small, curled horn, highly polished, and on which were engraven three figures, and some words, in a language he did not understand, written beneath them. The Nugget thanked the old lady for her gift, and having sufficiently refreshed and rested himself, he set forward in search of Dusk, the dwarf.
CHAPTER III.
DUSK’S STRONGHOLD.
To say that our hero felt satisfied with the treatment he had received at the hands of Mother Dot would be to state an untruth. He was not satisfied. He had a latent suspicion that the hag was in some way or other leagued with his enemy. Under these circumstances he therefore thrust her gift into his pocket, and went in search of the ugly dwarf. For hours he wandered about without seeing a vestige of any living thing. He began [[28]]to feel tired and hungry, and darkness was approaching fast. What should he do? Try and find his way back again to where he had left Grapple? No, the giant would only laugh at him.
He suddenly bethought him to try the old woman’s gift. She had said that whatever he might wish for should be gratified. His first and dearest wish was to find the whereabouts of the dwarf. So he put the relic to the test. Swift and potent indeed was the effect. Scarcely had the desire taken shape in his mind ere his eyes beheld a massive structure about the distance of a mile right ahead of him. The building was surrounded by a high wall, and looked more like a gaol than anything else.
As he drew near, the young miner observed a strong iron door in the wall, at which he began to knock.
“Who’s there? What want you here?” resounded from a hoarse voice belonging to an enormous head and face, which at that moment protruded itself over the battlement.
“Does the dwarf they call Dusk reside here?” demanded our hero.
“He does, but he’s not at home. Go away, you mite, before I come and crush your bones together.” [[29]]
“Try,” responded the Nugget. “As for the dwarf, I believe the rascal is here, and I mean to enter and satisfy myself on that point.”
“Begone, you wretched ant—you insect!” roared the monster passionately.
“A fig for your bluster, you bundle of ugliness,” responded our hero.
The face disappeared as suddenly as the policeman in the puppet show, and immediately the iron door opened wide, disclosing a horrible-looking fellow, several feet taller than Grapple, and armed with a well-seasoned sapling about the dimensions of a verandah post.
“Now, you flea, you miserable son-in-law of a blow-fly, what have you to say before I smash you up?” cried the giant, purple with rage.
Without answer, Samson sprang through the open doorway. As he did so, the monster aimed a crushing blow at his head. Ducking like an otter, Nugget avoided the ponderous bludgeon, which fell upon the door and tore it from its hinges. Quick as the swoop of a hawk, he seized a fragment of iron and dealt his gigantic antagonist an awkward whack full upon his stomach, which tumbled him down, as if he had been shot, and there he lay quite helpless.
The Nugget, without troubling about his adversary, [[30]]entered the building; but he had not advanced beyond the porch before another and more formidable foe confronted him. Strongly built, and as sturdy as the trunk of an old oak, monster number two appeared neither man nor fish, but a strange combination of both. It had eyes and mouth like a fish, and as many legs and arms as an octopus, each member being armed at the extremities with spikes as sharp as steel.
“What seekest thou?” it bellowed forth, with the lungs of a bull.
“I seek the antic sprite, Dusk,” replied the undaunted Samson.
“Poor, mean earthworm, knowest thou not that the mighty Dusk is lord and master here in Twilight?”
“Pray conduct me to his lordship.”
“Hence! at once, or I’ll roast you like a crab,” said the man-fish.
“Stuff! You’ll find me tough eating,” replied the Nugget, at the same time drawing forth the ram’s horn, and changing it into a light, handy sword.
The monster grinned in disdain. Stretching forth his long arms, he tried to clutch our hero, but the Nugget cleverly avoided him. Then began a fierce combat between them. Here and there, up and down, with ringing blows, the duel [[31]]became very exciting and sanguinary, till the man-fish, losing his temper and his breath together, received the coup de grâce, and was hurled headlong down the terrace steps.
All further opposition seemed at an end with the death of the second monster, and our hero wended his way into the interior of the mansion. As he proceeded, he found the place was not at all so gloomy as might be expected from an outside view of it. Indeed, he discovered it was a large building, and furnished in excellent taste. The walls of the various apartments were hung with silk and velvet of chaste pattern and hue. Couches and chairs richly carved, with marble tables decked with choicest flowers and fruits, were reflected in mirrors on the walls, which were more elaborate than those of old Venice. Parrots of the gayest plumage, rare birds in golden cages, soft, sparkling fountains, and a delicious perfume of flowers, all made up a magnificent whole that was worthy the dwelling-place of a king.
With hasty steps our hero wandered through many rooms, hoping to discover the dwarf. His wandering brought him to a grand staircase, the steps of which were covered with Cashmere velvet, bordered with satin flowers. A bronze stand, curiously ornamented, supported a large globe of [[32]]white crystal at the head of the stairway. The Nugget could not help pausing to admire this beautiful piece of workmanship. The crystal ball was so dazzling bright that it made his eyes ache to look upon it.
“What a strange ball!” he said, shading his sight with his hand, and approaching close to it. “How large it is! It seems large enough to hold that rascal Dusk. What if he should be hiding here? Perhaps it is solid. Humph! I’ll try it. Ball, crystal ball, if thou art hollow, by my ram’s horn, I command thee! Open!”
Before the words had left his lips the globe slowly split in twain; while from within there rose before his wondering sight—not the ugly sprite—but the graceful form of a lovely young maiden.
Never in the life of this poor digger, either in his waking sense or in dreams, had he seen any woman so enchantingly lovely. In olden times men were blessed with visions of the angels, and they essayed to picture what they had seen. Yet how crude the forms of Cherubim and Seraphim both on canvas and on page to the glorious reality!
If Samson the Nugget had been gifted with the descriptive powers of the world-renowned war correspondent, I’m afraid the twenty-six letters in our alphabet would not have been sufficient to [[33]]convey any idea of the beauty of this damsel upon whom he gazed. Her complexion was like that delicate tint we see upon the pearl shell, and her hair shone like burnished gold.
“Who art thou, fair lady?” cried the Australian youth, gallantly advancing with outstretched hands to assist her from the pedestal whereon she had been imprisoned.
“Alas!” she answered, weeping, “I am the daughter of King Golden Cloud, and my name is Silverhaze. Because I would not consent to become the wife of a wicked dwarf, named Dusk, he stole me from my home, and conveying me here, enclosed me in yon crystal globe.”
No ring-dove cooing for its mate had softer, sweeter voice than Princess Silverhaze. Our hero led her down the stairway and placed her on a couch by the window. Seating himself at her feet he briefly explained to her the part he had taken in search of their common foe.
“Where is Golden Cloud, your home?” he said. “I swear I will not rest until I have placed you safe again in the arms of your kith and kin.”
“Thou art a brave youth,” answered the Princess, looking down at him with eyes that sparkled gratitude. “If thou canst indeed take me from [[34]]this horrid place, my father will load thee with honours, and poor Silverhaze will love thee always.”
Ah me! Who shall write the Nugget’s answer? Who shall detail his confusion, his stammerings, his schoolboy blushes? Not I, my young friends. Wise old Atha knows full well how near the Love God dangles to yourselves—how near ye are to the reality without the ideal being stamped on this page to point the way.
In considerably less time than it takes to pen these lines, the Princess had decided to trust her fortunes to the pluck and gallantry of her young champion. But in the midst of their plans they were unexpectedly confronted by their deadly enemy—Dusk—armed to the teeth.
CHAPTER IV.
THE RING-DOVE.
Fairyland can produce nothing so wonderful as the facility with which sundry mortals can extend their faces. To smile widely is the fashion with us nowadays, and it is very wonderful indeed to note the various methods of its accomplishment. If the human face be a mask (and who shall say it is not?) then what maskers promenade our streets with their masks set smiling—as one would set a [[35]]watch or a clock! Bowing and smirking is the latest humbug, and even the mere soulless puppets, born of men’s brains, must smack of it, else they are voted untrue to life and nature.
There was a set smile on the ugly face of Dusk, the dwarf, as he bowed to Silverhaze and our hero; but the sprite had not been educated in a mortal school. He lacked polish. Malignity shone in his eyes and in every corner of his wicked mouth.
“Don’t move, I pray,” he said slowly; “my slaves are entirely at your service. Why don’t you summon them to do your bidding? Ho, ho, ho!” And his mocking laugh rang through the vaulted passages like a bugle-call.
Poor Silverhaze began to tremble, and clung to the Nugget for support, while the youth in his turn tried his utmost to calm her fears.
The dwarf eyed them with a sinister look. “Very charming for my fay,” he ejaculated, rubbing his bony hands together. “Very loving and tender, oh, my doves. What tender morsels you’ll make for mince-pies! My cook, Pancake Parecheese, will be delighted with you. He, he, hi!” He turned about as he spoke, and clapped his hands together as a signal. Almost immediately the room became filled with armed monsters. [[36]]
“Ha!” cried Dusk in mocking sarcasm. “You break into my house, kill my servants, and rob me of my coveted prize. Slaves, take this man away and boil him down.”
It was a dreadful order. To cook a man like a leg of mutton or a shin of beef! Good heavens! it was awful. But the dwarf, powerful as he was, little dreamed of the amazing influence of the ram’s horn. By its potent force our hero set the whole army of monsters by the ears, who fell foul of and slew each other. Not satisfied with this, they set fire to the mansion, where, amidst the conflagration, those who were not slain perished in the flames.
At the beginning of the fray our hero seized the dwarf, and transforming him into a donkey, placed the King’s daughter on his back, and retraced his steps to Mother Dot’s hut on the cliff. The dame came out at their approach, and at the sight of her the ass began to bray loudly.
“Thou wicked sprite!” she cried, shaking her staff over him. “Thou camest to me in sore need, and I gave thee power. How hast thou used my gift? Why, to evil. Beast thou art, and a beast thou shalt remain for evermore.”
The donkey drew back his long ears, and kicked spitefully, for fully five minutes, at the [[37]]decree. Meanwhile, Mother Dot took the young Princess and her companion into the hut, and placed refreshment before them. It was amusing to see the attention the Nugget bestowed upon the fair young creature by his side, and to note the tell-tale blushes which ever and anon suffused her face as their eyes or their hands chanced to meet. Even the old crone, who wasn’t looking their way, nodded her ancient head, muttered, and chuckled in a wise way, as if she had known it all beforehand.
“AT THE SIGHT OF HER THE ASS BEGAN TO BRAY LOUDLY.”
[[38]]
The meal ended, Silverhaze approached the dame and whispered, “Dear Mother Dot, who is this gallant youth who has delivered me from the wicked dwarf?”
“Ah, he will tell you soon, my pearl,” she answered with a leer; “meantime, he’s called the Knight of the Ram’s Horn.”
Presently the Nugget drew near the old woman, and plucking her by the sleeve, said, “Dame, canst tell what I am to do with this gentle maiden?”
“Yes, my son. Thou hast conquered the evil Dusk, therefore to thee shall be the proud service of restoring Princess Silverhaze to her home.”
“Where is her home, good dame?”
“Thou hast seen it,” answered the old woman. “That rock on the plain is the palace of King Golden Cloud. This damsel is the King’s only child.”
“Whew!” cried Samson, taking off his hat. “Why, mother, the place is a wretched ruin.”
“So it is, and there stands the spoiler,” replied the crone, pointing to the ass. “Dusk the dwarf coveted the Pearl of Golden Cloud for his wife, and when she denied him, the base wretch stole her from thence, and to hide the deed, he committed a greater one, as people generally do who [[39]]begin to do evil. By the dwarf’s enchantments, the King, Queen, ladies, nobles, courtiers, and every soul within the palace were transformed into the likeness of stone images. The guards who attempted to rescue the King’s daughter were changed into a horde of wild animals on the spot, while the matchless garden, the wonder and beauty of a kingdom, became a wide waste.”
“What a wicked monster!” cried our hero indignantly.
“Ah! my son; but thanks to thy strong back and unfaltering courage the spell is broken, and his power is gone for ever. If thou hadst failed with the burden I gave thee, then would Silverhaze be still confined within the crystal globe.”
“I am very glad to have rescued the lady,” he replied; “but, mother, I could not have accomplished it without your aid. Even now I am at a loss how to proceed.”
The old dame looked at him, and began to chuckle.
“Marry! art not thou the Knight of the Ram’s Horn? Ha! ha! hi! hi!”
So tickled did she appear at this somewhat ambiguous question that she laughed till the building trembled to its foundation, and she no sooner recovered from one guffaw than she went [[40]]off into another, until it ended in a severe fit of coughing.
Samson the Nugget was rather surprised at the old lady’s merriment. There really seemed nothing to laugh at. How was he to find the way to that subterraneous passage by which he had come? And, moreover, supposing he found it, how was he to convey the Princess up the steep sides of the black chasm?
The whole thing had been feasible enough if the ram’s horn had still remained in his possession, but the relic had mysteriously gone from him the moment he re-entered the old woman’s hut.
After many futile attempts at choking, Mother Dot recovered sufficiently to say,—
“Sir Knight, be not troubled concerning the maiden. I will find means to send ye both to Golden Cloud.”
“But, dame, I repeat the place is a ruin.”
“Tut! To thee it seemeth so,” she answered shortly. “I will undo the spell cast upon it, and thou shalt see it in all its former magnificence. The statues shall rouse them from their long sleep and give ye welcome. I have said it.”
The dame hobbled to a pretty cage, and took therefrom a beautiful ring-dove which perched tamely on her finger and began to coo. Bending [[41]]her mouth towards its beak she whispered a few words, and the dove flew away and was lost to sight in a moment.
“Come, Sir Knight; come, Princess. You must now set forth on your journey to Golden Cloud,” continued Mother Dot. “We will all mount upon the back of the ass, who shall bear us to Moonshine, after which you will have no difficulty in reaching your destination.”
The miserable donkey gave forth a loud bray of dissent at the undue weight placed upon him, but a few sound thumps, administered with the old lady’s crutch, soon quieted him. The dark night had fallen round them ere they reached the frontier which divides Golden Cloud from Work-a-Day.
At this point Dame Dot dismounted, and, taking leave of the Princess and her companion, said,—
“We part here, for I cannot cross this line. Remember me to His Majesty and the Queen. Farewell!”
The crone vanished, together with the ass, and left the King’s daughter and her champion standing on the threshold of two worlds—the known and unknown.
On this borderland they beheld on one side a dim, imperfect light, out of which came voices [[42]]filled with groans and sobs. The air trembled with countless sighs, upborne from millions of aching hearts; but the rush and the roar, and the hurry-skurry of tumult and bustle swallowed up the sounds. The other side gleamed soft and clear, with roseate shadows. There was no cry of pain, no wail of despair there.
“This is our way,” the Princess said, and they left the obscure reflection behind them and went onward into the light.
CHAPTER V.
GOLDEN CLOUD.
Away beyond the sound of tears the mortal and his companion wandered. In the distance shone the glinting crest of a winding river, and as they drew near it the King’s daughter clapped her hands together in rapture. “Look, look!” she said. “This is Golden Cloud. It is my home.”
“Golden Cloud! Where?” The wondering gaze of the Australian youth turned east, west, south, and north. According to the landmarks in many places, this was certainly the river over which he had chased the dwarf; but lo! how changed. Could yonder towering edifice, bristling [[43]]with lofty towers and domes, be that gloomy rock where he had left his companion, Grapple, asleep?
Peaks and turrets glittered under the soft light, sending untold rays aslant terrace and fountain, and upon the bright forms of dame and cavalier promenading to and fro.
Could this far-stretching vista be that bare plain over which he had passed? This with its gleaming cascades whose ripplings rivalled the lullaby of the bulbul? This with its leafy arches, and long, winding avenues, looped with clustering vines, whose stems were bent ’neath fruited gems? What bowers of green, bedecked with diamond drops and pearls of May dew!
Down where the stream flowed, the firmament, with its clustering hosts of stars, was mirrored on the liquid floor; while o’er the intervening space there floated sounds that might have ravished the senses even of a German Jew.
Cadence of bird and insect never fell before so soft and dulcet upon heaven-tuned ears. From its hundred windows the palace of King Golden Cloud beamed forth with light and beauty to welcome back its lost daughter. Welcome from bud and blossom, ringed with fire-flies, and whose ever-changing shimmer flashes a rainbow-hued light to guide their steps. [[44]]
Glorious Golden Cloud! Many of us poor, fading weeds of sorrow would fain climb thy hill-top, if but to rest our weary souls for one brief moment in thy quiet groves. Oh! what sordid slaves are we who worship at those iron gates, whose recompense are wrinkled brows and silvered hair. Great Fetish of the world, the flesh, and the devil, I bow the knee to thee no more. Day by day I hear the cry of groaning thousands, that struggle for a bare existence around thy temple, calling to thee in vain. In vain they call, and vain thy power to help them. Oh thou cold and doubly-cursed humbug of the teeming world.
Standing there amidst the circle of things pure and beautiful, the Knight of the Ram’s Horn beheld the approach of a pretty ring-dove towards them, with a grand barge of state following across the river. The boat drew up almost at their feet, and Silverhaze cried out, “See, this is the King’s Chamberlain, Sir Bumble Bee Popgun.”
As the damsel spoke, an aged figure ascended from the boat, and doffing his jewelled hat, bent low before her. “The King of Golden Cloud hath mourned for his Pearl—his child,” he said in mellifluous accents.
Princess Silverhaze smiled, and stooping, whispered [[45]]something in his ear, then entered the barge on the arm of her doughty knight.
Over the stream they went and up the hill at the farther side, which presented overhead a leafy arcade, where myriads of glow-worms infused a coloured sheen athwart the brilliant uniforms of the King’s Guards who walled the way up to the very gates of the palace. A great concourse of nobles thronged the entrance to the royal residence and cheered the Princess as she passed round on the arm of our hero. Sir Bumble Bee led the way through throngs of bowing lackeys to the King’s chamber—a large hall of state—where, seated on a magnificent dais, our hero beheld the King and Queen of Golden Cloud waiting to embrace their daughter. The chamber was thronged with ladies and gentlemen. The former wore purple robes, with blue and white mantles, which floated about with the faintest breath. Many who stood in the presence of the Queen had robes like silver, and each had a brilliant star fixed in her hair. The Nugget noticed these were most beautiful women, their complexions seeming to take the brilliancy from the light by which they were surrounded. The young Knight of the Ram’s Horn saw all this at a glance, for he had an eye for the beautiful, [[46]]but his vision could not take in half the things that were around him.
For some considerable time he appeared to have been forgotten, so great was the excitement on the return of the Princess. But when the stir had somewhat subsided, the King’s daughter briefly detailed the exploits of our hero; how he had not only rescued her from the hands of the wicked dwarf Dusk, but that he by his courage had restored the kingdom of Golden Cloud.
More than we have space to detail, Silverhaze said in our hero’s favour, and he was led forward to the throne, where the Queen embraced him and seated him on her footstool. The King, not to be outdone on this occasion, made a speech in praise of courage generally, and of the courage displayed by the Nugget in particular. This oration lasted some six hours and a quarter, and occupied about twenty-seven columns in the Shadow Land Observer.
The return of Silverhaze and the restoration of Golden Cloud caused universal rejoicing throughout the land. His Majesty was so well pleased with Nugget that he conferred upon him the Order of the Moon and the rank of Prince, and to crown all, said he should marry Princess Silverhaze. And they were married. [[47]]
Ah, me! Wonderful, amazingly wonderful, the rank and splendour of that wedding-day! But it was over at last, and the lovers were left alone to enjoy their billing and cooing together.
* * *
“Come, Samson, wake up, man. Are you going to sleep all Christmas Day?” cried a gruff voice. And the Nugget, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, saw that he was still in the drive of the gold mine, with his relieving mate standing over him.
The poor fellow—HAD ONLY DREAMED. [[48]]
TWILIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
BARON THIMBLE.
A winter night, with a thick fog rising above the Sandridge marshes, and spreading itself over the city of Melbourne. People released from toil were hurrying home to tea and a pleasant fireside. Others, who neither toil nor spin, and had no home or fireside, glided slowly and noiselessly through the mist like ghosts, or stood shivering before the damp window-panes or lit-up shops and dining-rooms, feasting their hungry eyes on the good things within.
Business in the city was very dull, and money very scarce. Money is scarce at all times with a great many mortals, I am aware, but the present depression was felt everywhere throughout the colony.
Tom Brock, the barber, standing in his little [[49]]shop at the corner of Gertrude Street Fitzroy, felt the hardness of the times as keenly as any member of the community, inasmuch as Tom had a large family of growing children to provide for, and customers had been anything but numerous of late. Indeed, the poor shaver was beginning to think that the primeval fashion of suffering the hair and beard to grow in wild luxuriance on the heads and faces of his race had become the order of the day, and from henceforth he could exclaim with Shakespeare’s gallant Moor—“Othello’s occupation’s gone.”
On this winter night the barber was alone in his shop, busy stropping his razors for want of more lucrative employment. Like most of his craft, Tom Brock was a great talker. It was part and parcel of his stock-in-trade; and, by the way, it is wonderful to note upon what a variety of subjects barbers can talk. Our hero was no exception to the rule in this respect. Having no one in the place to engage in conversation, he ceased stropping, and gazing into the large mirror opposite, addressed himself to what he saw there with charming irony in his tone.
“You’re a handsome fellow, Tom Brock, a very pretty fellow indeed. Only I’m afraid looks won’t go for much in this case. Here you are from eight [[50]]o’clock this morning, and you’ve almost earned one and sixpence, according to the multiplication table. Just fancy this grand sum of eighteen pence per diem, sir, for the maintenance of eleven persons—father, mother, and nine young Brocks, whose appetites this cold weather are something to astonish Soyer the Frenchman. Don’t smile at me, sir; I’m in no humour for jesting. Humph! how foolish to try and quarrel with one’s shadow! Yet I’ve known men do that, before to-night.”
He settled himself down with a sigh in the easy chair, and crossed his legs one over the other. “I wonder if the portrait and the superscription of Her Majesty the Queen is still upon the coinage of this realm?” continued the barber, speaking at the image in the mirror. “It’s such a time since I handled a golden coin that, upon my life, I almost forget what they are like; perhaps that is the reason why I feel such an uncontrollable desire to look upon one at this moment. Nay, not one, but several—in short, several hundreds. Pooh, what rubbish you’re talking, Tom Brock, you penniless rascal!”
The poor barber smiled at the idea of the thing, and the fellow in the mirror smiled in company. “Ready cash is a very handy thing to have at one’s command, especially when it is urgently [[51]]needed, as in my case,” said Tom, looking sternly at his reflection. “I’ve often heard fellows sneer at money, and call it strange names; yet I’ve noted that these same revilers were always mighty eager to gather it in when they have had an opportunity. Moreover, I——”
“ ‘SHAVE, OR HAIR CUT, SIR?’ ASKED THE BARBER.”
Brock the barber paused suddenly in his soliloquy; for he beheld within the radius of the looking-glass another form besides the reflection of himself. A little man, with a peculiar cast of face and features, stood behind the chair, with his arms akimbo, and his old-looking head [[52]]on one side, listening greedily to the barber’s utterances.
“Good-evening, sir,” said Tom, starting to his feet. “Cold night?”
The little man only grinned like a monkey in reply.
“Shave, or hair cut, sir?” asked the barber, rubbing his lean hands with professional expectancy.
“Shave?” echoed the customer in a voice like a croaking raven. “Do I look as if I wanted shaving? No man shall take me by the nose, and I know you can’t shave without doing that.”
“No offence, sir. Shall I cut your hair?”
“Yes, Tom Brock. Cut it short, very short.” And the wee fellow chuckled heartily as he divested himself of a cloak, in which he had been wrapped from head to heel, and seated himself in the chair before the mirror. The new-comer, although very small for his age, was quite cool and self-possessed. He gave all manner of directions respecting the mode in which he required his hair trimmed, made faces at the glass, and laughed at the grimaces reflected there.
Tom Brock had had many queer customers during the twelve years he had been in business, [[53]]but he had never seen such a quaint, small mite of a man as this one before him. In fixing the wrapper about his shoulders Tom could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise at the colour and texture of his companion’s apparel. Of what material were they composed—cloth, tweed, silk, cotton? No; mortal warp or weft never manufactured such fabrics. Some other agency—subtle and mysterious as many unexplained things we see around us—had perchance woven these articles. For in this lower world there are cloaks much less substantial than a fairy’s jerkin—cloaks for which Dr. Johnson and his followers have been unable to find a name, but which are indispensable to many of us in our daily lives.
Had the barber been less engaged in taking stock of the manner and appearance of his strange customer, he might have discovered at once that to shorten this fellow’s hair was an utter impossibility, for as fast as the keen scissors severed the long, yellow locks the particles became instantly attached again. The barber’s eyes were too intent watching the grimaces in the mirror to observe the startling fact.
“Been long in the colony, sir?” insinuated he, by way of opening a conversation.
The wee man chuckled mightily, and narrowly [[54]]escaped having a portion of his ear severed by the barber’s sharp scissors.
“I know the colony, Tom Brock,” he replied. “No one better. Ha, ha!”
The hairdresser was staggered, but he came again to the charge.
“Beautiful hair, yours, sir, fine and soft as silk. It doesn’t seem to be much shorter, after all I’ve cut off.”
“Cut it short, Tom. Ho, ho, ho!”
“Very dull times, sir,” said Tom, not relishing his customer’s disagreeable laugh.
“It’s very dull indeed for you, Tom Brock,” answered the wee man, with a knowing leer.
“Why for me, sir?”
“Because the lease of your shop expires next Monday, Tom, and you haven’t a penny saved to renew it. That’s why,” responded the customer quietly.
Some people when they are astonished can be tumbled over with a feather, but it would have taken a blow from a large stick to have knocked our hero down. He appeared rooted to the boards, and his eyes and mouth opened considerably.
“Very good, sir. You’re a wizard. Perhaps you have no objection to tell me what I had for [[55]]dinner to-day!” ejaculated Tom, when he found the use of his tongue.
“Not in the least. You hadn’t anything, my friend. Your mind was not upon eating to-day, but rather the consideration of where boots for the children are to come from—a bonnet for Mrs. B. likewise, the cash for your business, eh? Care has taken away your appetite, Tom. Ha, ha! I know. No one knows better than Thimble. That’s me.”
The comb and scissors fell from the barber’s hand to the floor.
“Want to know anything else, Tom Brock?” asked the visitor.
“Nothing more, thank ye,” replied the barber in a bewildered tone.
“Listen to me, then.” And the little fellow faced about in the chair. “I am Baron Thimble, of Faydell Twilight. Ours is a vast kingdom in the centre of Australia, of which very little is known by man. The Anglo-Saxon has penetrated into every corner of the known globe, and thrust his inquisitive nose into the socket of the North Pole, but he has never set foot in the land of Twilight. Now I need your services, Tom Brock, and if you will promise to go with me, I will reward you handsomely.” [[56]]
“Twilight,” repeated Brock thoughtfully. “I never heard mention of such a country before.”
“I trow not,” replied Baron Thimble, smiling. “Nevertheless, it is a great realm, whose people have often visited these cities, reared on the sea border. Thou art poor, and in need, and faith, I repeat, I have need of thee.”
“How long will you require me?”
“For just one moon. No more.”
“And the reward?” inquired Tom eagerly.
“Two hundred golden coins.”
“Thank you, I am at your service. Stop! Is Twilight far away, Baron Thimble?”
“Yes, but our conveyance will be swift and safe. Thou wilt go?”
“With the greatest pleasure, sir.”
“Enough! Here are one hundred sovereigns in part payment of my promise.” And the Twilight nobleman drew forth a heavy purse and counted the money into the barber’s palm. “Go home at once and bank the money with thy wife; then meet me afterwards on the right bank of the river Yarra, beyond the Lunatic Asylum. You understand?”
And the Baron, chuckling to himself, folded his poncho about his person, and strode out at the doorway. [[57]]
Tom Brock could hardly believe but that the whole affair had been a joke. There lay the money, though. That was real enough. And he felt it was no joke to have it in his possession. So he packed up his shaving appliances in a bag, closed his shop, and went home to his better half.
CHAPTER II.
PRINCE PICNIC.
The inhabitants of Twilight have a more facile means of transition than the sons of men. While we have our steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and all other nurslings of science as our slaves, the races of the dim region can command the services of the powerful Air King Fancy. Swifter is he than the Wind, and stronger than the fabled Griffin of the Ancients. He can accommodate any number and all manner of travellers at a moment’s notice.
Baron Thimble, standing by the Yarra bank, invoked the rapid harbinger to his aid, and when Tom Brock the barber joined him there, they were fully prepared to start on their voyage.
“Humbug-loo-boo! Tictoleroo! Pish-bosh! Fudge!” [[58]]cried the son of Twilight, and they were off. The electrical current, girdling the storm-tossed waters, where ships are broken and engulfed, could not outpace the conveyance of the fairy and the barber. The most elegant saloon could not afford more comfort than those trance-stuffed cushions upon which they reclined and gazed out upon the newly brightened landscape.
Then the fairy man spoke and unfolded his mission.
“I am the Baron Thimble. Know, O mortal, that the wise Prince Picnic is Ruler and Governor of Twilight. The Prince hath a beautiful daughter named Bi-ba-be-bi, which in the language of the country implies the Lady Lollypop. Twelve months ago, while the Prince was hunting in the Leap Frog Mountains, he was made prisoner by a huge, powerful chief of the Baboon country, named Gorilla, who demanded the Prince’s daughter in marriage, as ransom. My master consented to the terms, but begged that Gorilla would not press his suit for the space of one year and a day, so that Bi-ba-be-bi might be prepared for the ceremony. The monster agreed. And now, the time specified having elapsed, the horrid creature has crossed the mountains to demand his bride.”
The voice of Baron Thimble trembled with [[59]]emotion as he continued: “Prince Picnic is full of sorrow, for he cannot think of suffering his lovely daughter to mate with such a monster as Gorilla. Bribes have been offered, gold and silver and gems, besides a large tract of territory known as Shadowsflit, bordering on our country, but the monster will have nothing in lieu of the lady.”
“Why don’t you call out the volunteers, and drive the beast back into the mountains?” inquired the barber.
“Ah, there lies the difficulty,” answered Thimble. “The Governor of Twilight has never broken his word to man or monster, and he will not go from it in this instance. The nobles and churchmen have tried to persuade him that, under the circumstances, he is not bound to redeem his word with Gorilla; but he will not listen to our advice, and I’m afraid the lovely girl, Lady Lollypop, will be sacrificed.”
“What is the Baboon chief like?” asked the barber.
“Tall as a giant, and as strong as a dozen giants combined,” replied his companion. “The Prince quartered him in the summer palace, and the rogue has almost torn it down piecemeal. He has eaten up the shrubs and flowers, and destroyed every animal within his reach.” [[60]]
“Has Lady Lollypop seen her affianced husband?”
“No; poor Bi-ba-be-bi remains as yet in blissful ignorance of the fact, yet to-morrow the whole matter must be made known to her, except——” and the Baron paused, and looked fixedly at Tom Brock.
“Except what?” said the barber.
“Except you aid us,” rejoined the fairy. “We held a Council yesterday—Gaboon, the Prince’s jester, being President. The Chairman, who understands the manners, customs, and language of Gorilla-land, stated that this monster was not in his opinion a real native Gorilla, inasmuch as the beings of the Baboon regions had only four toes, whereas the visitor had five; further, in conversing with the intended husband of the fair Bi-ba-be-bi, he had discovered that the creature spoke the language of the country with a strong foreign accent—these, together with other matters he did not wish at that meeting to particularise, induced him (the Chairman) to conclude that the monster was other than what he appeared, and that the only way to test the truth or otherwise of his suggestion, with reference to the unwelcome guest, would be to engage a smart barber to shave the Gorilla from head to heel. I need scarcely add [[61]]that the proposition of the President was unanimously agreed to. And here you are!”
Wee Baron Thimble chuckled and rubbed his hands together until the joints cracked again.
“Why, you surely didn’t engage me to shave a Gorilla?” cried the poor barber in astonishment.
“I certainly did, Tom Brock.”
“What! All over—body and all?” inquired he, with starting eyeballs.
“Body, head and feet, Tom. Wherever there is a hair you must cut it off,” replied Thimble.
“Well, I’ve often heard of a pig being shaved, but never a Gorilla. What do you want to shave the beast for, eh?”
The Baron remained thoughtful for a moment ere he replied. “It will be a sure test to prove whether this monster is really the chief of the Baboon realm or not,” he said. “If he is not, so much the better for Lollypop, and if he is the real Simon Pure, his enormous strength will depart with his heavy coat. He will become docile, and we can then dress him as becomes the bridegroom of a Princess. That is the opinion of Gaboon.”
“Bother Gaboon!” cried the barber. “I only wish the President of the Council had to shave the creature, that’s all.”
“There are no barbers in Twilight,” answered [[62]]Thimble; “else I had not come to thee; besides, thou hast received thy reward.”
“This monster may kill me,” replied Tom.
“True. Then again he may not. Come, man, whatever thou may’st value thyself at shall be paid to thee when thy task is ended. Great results hang upon thy skill and on the keen edge of thy tools. Although shaving is unknown here, there is a potent influence about it amongst thy race, whether it may be upon their faces or upon their consciences. Here we are at the mansion of Prince Picnic.”
A charming edifice rises to view, nestling its gables and turrets ’midst clouds of richest foliage, upon whose glistening tops rest every shade of green, with brown and russet and yet a colour of amber between, encircling the wave like hills in the distance. Kingdom of Twilight! how I love thee! Not as a stranger do I enter thy gates. I have been here before, long, long ago, when the years were young and full of promise for me; when she was by my side who was too frail, too good for earth. Here we have lingered silently, side by side, while the nightingale warbled forth its soft notes in love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their fragrance until the air became an essence of perfume. Oh, sweet [[63]]bird of Twilight, thy song yet fills the air, but silent and cold the fond heart that beat in unison with thy sweet music. Will she listen for thy singing when the twilight gathers its shadows o’er her lowly grave on the hillside? Oh, nightingale! oh, twilight memories! Ye preach to my yearning soul more eloquently than words of man. Patience, love, hope, are borne to me upon your voice, and fall gently as the breath of mercy and forgiveness upon the quickened sense, that sees revealed for one brief moment a glimpse of Paradise and its forms of unperishable glory.
The approach of the two travellers was observed by the captain of the guard at the palace gates, who immediately sent a message to the Prince; whereupon, as soon as they arrived they were ushered into the presence of the Ruler of Twilight, who received the Baron and the barber very graciously. Refreshments were ordered to be set before them, and when Tom had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Prince Picnic asked him many questions respecting his journey, and desired to inspect the articles in the bag. While Prince Picnic was engaged with the razors and lather box, our hero had time to have a good look at him. He appeared much smaller than the Baron, [[64]]and a trifle older looking, yet the Prince was still what many ladies would term a handsome fellow. His white pointed beard was very long and strongly scented, yet his eyes were as keen as a hawk, and his step as supple and light as a boy of fifteen. If Tom Brock had wondered at the richness and texture of Baron Thimble’s clothing, he wondered still more at the magnificence of Prince Picnic’s dressing-gown, and also at the lavish display of pure gold in everything he saw about the room. In fact, the barber had yet to learn that the country was one vast gold mine, which in the absence of other metals was employed for everything in common use.
It was time to retire to rest when the Prince broke up the audience.
The Baron conducted Tom to an elegant sleeping apartment. “The Gorilla has found his way here,” he said at parting. “The beast has selected the sward of the lawn in preference to a bed. Remember, your task must be finished before the assembling of the Court to-morrow. Sleep well. Good-night.” [[65]]
CHAPTER III.
LADY LOLLYPOP.
The barber was honoured with a perfumed bath ere he retired to rest, which caused him to sleep soundly until daylight began to peep through the windows of his chamber. His slumbers would have been prolonged had it not been for a feeling of sudden pain across the bridge of his nose. He awoke hastily, and beheld the form of a very ancient dame standing by his bedside. That puppet, known as the spouse of Mr. Punch, was the only creature that our hero could liken her to, as she bent her thin profile over him and held up her skinny hand in token of silence and attention. Fixing her keen eyes upon Tom, she chanted, rather than spoke, the following incantation:—
“Draw a circle round the beast
When he sleeps in peaceful rest;
If strong thy arm and keen thy blade
So thy task is easy made.
Shave the monster, head and toe,
Round him fold this robe of snow;