Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE ADVENTURES OF

DIGGELDY DAN

“Who—may—you—be?” exclaimed the four in surprise. FRONTISPIECE. See page [135].

THE ADVENTURES OF DIGGELDY DAN

BY

EDWIN P. NORWOOD

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

A. CONWAY PEYTON

BOSTON

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

1922

Copyright, 1922,

By Little, Brown, and Company.

All rights reserved

Published September, 1922

Printed in the United States of America

TO

THE HOSFORDS

OF

MEADOW HOUSE

These tales were first told for the Children’s Page of The Christian Science Monitor, and the author takes this means of acknowledging his appreciation of the arrangement by which he is privileged to republish them.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE ADVENTURES OF

DIGGELDY DAN

CHAPTER I
IN WHICH DAN MEETS THE PRETTY LADY WITH THE BLUE-BLUE EYES

Had you tiptoed to the very edge of a certain town, on a certain day not so very long ago, you would have come upon a great sprawling cluster of big and little tents. And had you held your breath and walked ever so quietly, you would finally have reached an open space in the very center of the bigger tents, where stood a small white tent that seemed far more interesting than all the rest. Just why it seemed so would have been hard to tell, unless it was because—though there was not so much as a thimbleful of wind astir—a certain spot in its canvas wall kept bulging in and out, after the fashion of a curtain in the breeze. At times, this spot would settle back into place, only to start jiggling a moment later, just as though there were some one inside the tent, clutching at its wall and shaking it, much as a monkey rattles the bars to its cage.

As for the open space between the little white tent and all the bigger circus tents—for the tents were all a part of Spangleland—there was no sign of life. True, there were gayly dressed men scattered about here and there—and women, too. But all were fast asleep. Some lay back in low, canvas chairs strung in a row in the shadow of the tents. Some, with their chins propped in their hands, were perched like pigeons on the tongues of wonderful red and golden wagons; while still others lay at full length on the cool, green grass. The lap of one was covered by a newspaper and that of another held an open book, just as if their owners had grown weary of reading and dozed off to sleep, square in the middle of a sentence.

So there was no sign of life, except the jiggling of the wall of the round, white tent that stood in the center of all the bigger tents.

Meantime the day was fast making ready for bed. Indeed, the sun was just on the point of slipping out of sight behind the very largest of all the bigger tents when, far off in the sky to the west, there appeared—a tiny black speck. And at this the wall of the round white tent began to jiggle more violently than before, while a wee little eye appeared, peeking through a wee little hole in its wall. And, as the wee eye watched, the speck grew in size and then began to describe little curves, as if it were bounding up and down as it came. And, for that matter, so it was. For the speck was a bird on the wing, and it was headed straight for the tents of Spangleland. On it came, until it had reached the very edge of the circus town. And then it began to bound up and down even more than before, and to circle this way and that, as if to make sure of some certain thing of which it alone knew the secret. But it flew more slowly now, so that one might have seen—had any been there to see—that its color was a wondrous blue and of so gorgeous a hue that the red and golden wagons—which were just at that moment struck by the sun’s parting rays—must have felt very much ashamed of themselves.

Finally, as if no longer in doubt, the bird fixed its eyes on the little white tent, and flew straight to the wee hole in its wall. And, as it reached the tent, it began to call, in the softest voice imaginable:

“O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!

O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”

While from behind the wall of the round white tent came the merriest of voices in reply, singing, almost as softly:

“Here’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan;

Here’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”

“Then,” said the bird, who had by this time perched itself on the nose of one of the little round poles that stuck out near the caves of the round white tent, “come forth at once, sir.”

And at this command the canvas wall of the round white tent was parted by the very hands of the one who had been jiggling it in his impatience to put it aside; and, little by little, as if he feared that those who slept might waken, there appeared the funniest little old man in all the world.

First came his head, all white and smooth and crowned by a queer round hat that came to a point at the top. And his ears were white, too, and so was his face, except for his red, red lips and five curious spots of red—one on his chin, one on his brow, one on each cheek, and one on the tip of his long, funny nose. He wore a collar that was all ruffled and round and a baggy white suit, trimmed with great polka-dot patches, that might have been likened to very red apples, except for the fact that half of them were blue.

“Come, come! Make haste there, Dan—if, indeed, you are Diggeldy Dan,” cried the bird from its perch on the little round pole.

“Quite so, quite so,” chuckled the funny old man. And, suiting himself to his words, he made a quick skip into the open, danced three steps to the left and three to the right, and then, doffing his queer, sugar-loaf hat, made a very grand courtesy in the direction of the bird, saying as he did so:

“At your service, little messenger.”

“Ah, then you know who I am!” exclaimed the one who had come out of the west. “But I must be very sure. So tell me, if you can, what rhymes with this:

“O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan.”

“Why,” answered the clown—for you must have guessed that he was a clown—“Why,” he repeated,

“You are the courier from Too-Bo-Tan.”

But though the bird nodded in approval, as if to say, “Yes, yes, that is correct,” it still seemed reluctant to admit that the man was really Diggeldy Dan. So it put its head first to one side and then to the other, and puckered its very blue brows, as if thinking up some further test. And then it spoke again.

“Diggeldy Dan—if, indeed, you are Diggeldy Dan—who was it told you the last line of the rhyme?”

“Why,” answered the clown with great readiness, “it was the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes. She came to me in a dream last night—riding her White-White Horse through the skies. She wakened me, or at least I thought she did, by tickling my nose with her slim little whip. She said: ‘To-morrow, after the circus is over and the great crowd has gone home to its supper, and after the people of the circus have had their suppers and are come back to the shady places in and about the big and little tents, to read and to tell their tales and take their ease, they will all fall into a very deep sleep—that is, all but Diggeldy Dan.’”

And, at this, the clown paused to take a much-needed breath; for he had become somewhat excited in telling his story and, to speak the truth, had quite forgotten to breathe between sentences.

But at a sign from the bird, he went on:

“‘As for you, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,’ continued the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes, ‘you will not go to sleep. Instead, you are to hide in the round white tent that stands in the center of all the bigger tents, and wait for the messenger who will come out of the west.’ And then she told me the rhyme. ‘For to-morrow,’ she said, ‘you’ll have been a clown for a hundred years and a day.’ Yes, that was just what she said: ‘A hundred years and a day.’ And so I have been. But, what of that, my pretty bird? For see! I still can dance as merrily and as lightly as any butterfly that flits o’er the fields in the May!”

As if to prove what he had said, the funny old clown tripped off so very blithely and so very fast that he bumped smack into one of the red and golden wagons that stood in the lee of the round white tent.

“Ah, ha!” said the bird, half to itself, and hardly seeming to notice that the bump into the wagon had sent the clown to the grass on his back, “you will do, Diggeldy Dan; you will do.”

In a very twinkling there appeared the most beautiful circus lady one ever laid eyes upon. Page [10].

And, with that, it flew from its perch at the top of the little round pole, while in a very twinkling, there appeared the most beautiful circus lady one ever laid eyes upon—and with her a White-White Horse right out of the sky. So that, when Dan picked himself up, and, lifting one foot, was just about to finish his dance, his red-red lips fell very far apart and his eyes became almost as large as the polka-dot patches that covered his white, baggy suit. Indeed, he presented so comical an appearance—standing there with one foot in the air, and I staring his visitor most out of countenance—that the Lady leaned forward on her White-White Horse and burst into so merry a laugh that it sounded like all the silver tinkle bells in the world.

“Why,” exclaimed Dan, when he had finally found his voice and put down his foot, “you are the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes!”

“Yes, and the blue bird, too; for it was I, all the while. And now, Diggeldy Dan, if you will be so good as to come with me to the very edge of Spangleland, I will tell you the message from Too-Bo-Tan.”

And so the Pretty Lady and the White-White Horse, with Dan walking by their side, passed slowly along between the big and little tents, speaking not at all, while the clown kept wondering what it was he was so soon to hear.

CHAPTER II
IN WHICH DAN HEARS THE MESSAGE FROM TOO-BO-TAN

Now, when the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes had reached the very outer edge of Spangleland, she brought her White-White Horse to a pause. And Diggeldy Dan paused, too. There they stood, forming a picture for all the world like one you must have seen in a story book; only it was much more wonderful than that could ever be. For no artist could ever have quite caught the blue in the Lady’s eyes, or the gold that lay in her hair. For, oddly enough, her yellow curls gleamed, though by this time the twilight had come and the lights of the night begun to blink and to wink, away off in the streets of the town. Then the Pretty Lady began to speak:

“Dan; for now I know you are Diggeldy Dan; what is in this great, white tent that stands so near where we stand?”

“Why,” answered Dan, “there’s monkeys, and lions, and tigers and things, and—”

“Quite so,” the Lady broke in. “It, then, is the tent that we want. Now listen to me with both your funny white ears and with all your two twinkling eyes. For this is the message from Too-Bo-Tan, to all the animals of Spangleland: Beginning on the morrow and on every day ever after, there is to come a wee little hour in the twilight when all the monkeys, and lions, and tigers, and things are to be let out of their cages, allowed to dance and to play and do as they will.”

“But, oh, Pretty Lady, that will not do at all,” burst in Diggeldy Dan. “Their cages are locked, there’s no hour to spare, and—and maybe they’d eat folks up!”

But for answer the Lady only laughed—the laugh that was so like the tinkle bells.

“Have no fear, Diggeldy Dan. All that has been thought out by far wiser heads than yours. You see, it was this way: Ever so long ago, Too-Bo-Tan—who is the very biggest monkey in all the world—called a meeting of all the animals in far-away Jungleland. And, when they had gathered on the highest peak of the mountains, where Too-Bo holds his wonderful court, Too-Bo rose and made this very solemn speech:

“‘It was, as many of you know, the very dearest wish of my honored father, Vargu, that the day might come when something could be done to make easier the lot of our fellow animals who have so nobly sacrificed their freedom and consented to spend their lives in red and golden cages, that the children may have their circus days. Of late, I have had my learned counselors go into this matter very thoroughly, and they have found, but yesterday, written on the face of a great stone in the depths of a certain cave in a certain mountain, this remarkable decree:

“‘“On the day when Diggeldy Dan has been a clown for a hundred years and a day, as a reward for the great joy that he has given little children through all his merry life, he will be granted the privilege of releasing all animals from their cages at every setting of the sun.”

“‘And so,’ continued Too-Bo-Tan, looking out from under his bushy eyebrows, ‘this meeting of all the animals has been called that we may discover just who this Diggeldy Dan may be, where he is, and, most important of all, whether he has yet been a clown for a hundred years and a day.’”

“But,” interrupted Dan, as the Pretty Lady reached this point in her story, “I’ve been right here with the circus for ever and ever and ever so long.”

“Of course, you have,” agreed the Lady, “but, you see, Too-Bo-Tan had been so busy with other matters that he didn’t know that you had. But I knew. For I am the Fairy of the Circus—the one who watches over all the riders and all the clowns and all the people of the big and little tents—the one who knows just what each one of them does every single day. And so, when Too-Bo had finished speaking, I jumped to my feet and said that I could find you in no time at all. Then we waited until the hour should come when you had been a clown for a hundred years and a day. And, when it came, I at once called for my White-White Horse and, as you know, came to you through the skies as you slept.

“And now, for the hour grows late and you will soon be needed in the very biggest tent, to laugh and to dance and play all your pranks, let us be quick. To-morrow, at half-past twilight—”

“When—when do you say?” puzzled Dan.

“At half-past twilight,” repeated the Lady. “Which reminds me that I have a watch for you that you may be very sure of the hour—a very precious watch, fashioned from the petals of a great white flower, that never blossoms, except when the twilight comes and then only for a wee, short hour.”

Even as she spoke, the Pretty Lady tugged at a silver thread that lay in the maze of the mane of her White-White Horse. And presently there appeared, from the opposite side of her snowy mount, the queerest-looking watch that ever told time. It was as round as a pancake, but not one-quarter as thick—indeed, it seemed to have no thickness at all.

“This,” said the Lady, as she unhooked the thread, “is the Petal Watch. You are to keep it tucked away in the peak of your round, funny hat. And each evening, just at half-past twilight, it will open and put forth its petals, and then you will know it is time to let loose the monkeys, and tigers, and lions, and things.”

And as Dan, taking the watch, knelt down to fold it away in the crown of his hat, there came a great burst of music from the very biggest of all the bigger tents. At the sound of it the White-White Horse began to prance and then—the Pretty Lady’s curls set flying by the speed of his gallop—was off through the night to the west.

For a moment Diggeldy Dan made as if to follow. Then he turned, and holding his hat very tightly, as if fearing he might lose the watch that was to be so useful on the morrow, he skipped away toward the great tent from whence the music came, singing as he ran.

CHAPTER III
IN WHICH DAN RELEASES THE ANIMALS OF SPANGLELAND

As the sun sank to rest behind the tents of Spangleland, on the day following the visit of the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes, it paused for a moment—as the sun sometimes will—and shot one last, long, lingering beam toward the little white tent which, as you will remember, played a part in the beginning of this tale. Had you been near at the time—and possessed some knack at riding sun beams—you might have mounted this one and ridden straight through the wee open place that served as a peep-hole for the wee little eye when the blue bird was first seen in the west. For it was through this tiny chink that the sunbeam passed and, having gained entrance, landed plump on the nose of Diggeldy Dan.

Indeed, it came so suddenly that the clown—who sat hunched over on the top of a gayly painted box, lost in deep thought—mistook it for a bright yellow bee and tried to brush it aside. And then he saw his mistake and, sitting up very straight, glanced upward to the hole in the wall.

“Oho! Little sunbeam; so you’ve come to remind me!” he cried. “Yes, yes. Now I will put on my hat and wait for the Petal Watch to tell me the time.”

As he did so he noticed that—just as before—all those who were near him were quite fast asleep. And, looking up and then down the inside of the tent, at all the many clowns that had been packed off to Slumberland, and all the queer, colored thingamajigs and all the odd do-dads that clowns always keep near, he waited for a sign from the watch. He did not wait long, for soon he felt something tickling the top of his smooth white head and, removing his hat ever so carefully, there he saw—exactly as the Pretty Lady had promised—the unfolding petals of a wonderful flower.

“Surely, now,” reasoned Dan, “it must be half-past twilight.”

So, slipping down from the box, he tiptoed in and out through the sleeping forms, passed to the open space between the little white tent and all the bigger tents, picked his way among the gayly dressed men and the women who drowsed in the chairs or lay stretched on the grass and, once clear of them, skipped away as fast as ever his two legs would carry him in the direction of the great tent where lived the monkeys, and tigers, and lions, and things. Reaching its entrance, he spied all the keepers leaning against the poles of the tent. But they, too, were asleep—their chins buried deep on their breasts. Then he advanced to the very center of the vast circle, formed by all the red and golden cages. And, at sight of this funny old clown in the polka-dot suit, there went up such a cry from the animals that, for the moment, Diggeldy Dan was tempted to skip away even faster than he had come. For never had he heard any such shout, which—but for the fact that the people of the circus were in a very deep sleep—must have wakened every one of them. But the keepers slept on, and soon Dan came to realize that the voices were joining in a sort of chant. Putting his head to one side he listened ever so intently; and then a great smile broke over his face. For gradually the chant took form. Yes, it was quite distinct now. The animals were shouting, in almost as many keys as there were voices:

“Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,

Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan.”

And, looking about from cage to cage, Dan saw that all of the animals were standing, their eyes shining, their faces flushed, their mouths working gleefully in the song that sang his name. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, the chant ended and all was as quiet as the hush of the twilight.

“Well, well,” began Dan, making four separate bows—one to the north, one to the east, one to the south, and the last to the west—“you seem to know who I am!”

“Of course we do,” answered the mighty chorus. “You’re Dan, Dan, Diggeldy, Dan. We’ve been expecting you the whole day.”

“And who, if I may make bold to ask, told you to expect me?”

“Why,” came the shout, “it was a little bird. A bird—”

“Never mind the rest,” interrupted Dan. “I might have guessed, without asking. It was the blue bird, of course. So we’ll lose no time in retelling old stories, but get down to business at once.”

And—that he might not be accused of playing favorites, in so far as which animal should be the first to be let out of its cage—the old clown put his feet together, raised himself to the very tips of his toes, shut his eyes very tightly, spun around exactly seven times and then—with his eyes still closed—followed the end of his long, funny nose, until it had brought him to the door of that cage which was nearest it. And, opening the door and his eyes at the very same moment, Diggeldy Dan came face to face with—Lion.

“Lion,” said Dan, as he took one of the big fellow’s paws in both his hands, “I am sure that this nose of mine showed extremely good sense in leading me first of all to your door. And now we will take the cages as they come.”

So Dan, accompanied by Lion, went to the gilded home of Tiger; then the three of them passed on to that occupied by Leopard—and so, on around the great circle, until every single one of the animals had been loosed from its cage. With Dan in the lead, they formed a long, winding line and then—the serpentine entirely complete—moved forward, for all the world like a troupe of children playing at lock step. Round and round they marched, swaying from side to side and singing at the very tops of their voices, with Dan tossing his head from right to left, like the drum-major in a band, and holding out the sides of his baggy white trousers, just as clowns ofttimes do at the circus.

But after the strange procession had paraded three times around the circle, Dan signaled a halt.

“No! No! Let’s do it some more,” pleaded all the animals. And, though he was somewhat out of breath, Dan gave consent and off they all pranced again, making more of a din than before. But, at the farther end of the great tent, the old clown clapped his hands and the long line stopped in its tracks. And doffing his round, funny hat, Dan saw that the Petal Watch was all but closed.

“Quick! Quick! There! Into your cages or we’ll all be caught!” he cried. “Monkey, you will go in last and, meantime, help me close all the doors.”

And, with Dan scurrying about and Monkey running so very fast that he fastened two doors to the old clown’s one, the task was completed in no time at all.

“Now,” said Dan, after Monkey had been tucked away, “I’ll say good-by till to-morrow. And then, at half-past twilight, I’ll come again and we’ll hold a great meeting and lay all manner of plans. In the meantime, remember, not a word to a soul.”

“Not a word to a soul,” echoed the animals in chorus.

So, swinging his hat as he went, Diggeldy Dan danced down the length of the menagerie tent and then, stopping at the end of it to give a last wave to his friends, disappeared in the depths of the dusk.

CHAPTER IV
IN WHICH THE ANIMALS ELECT OFFICERS

On as fine an evening as one might wish for and at exactly seven minutes past half-past twilight by the Petal Watch, Diggeldy Dan stood in the very center of the great menagerie tent, while before him were grouped all the animals of Spangleland.

Coming from their cages and from out their corrals or, like Elephant, Zebra, and Camel, being unhooked from their chains by Monkey and Dan, they had arranged themselves much as one sees them pictured in great atlases or on gayly colored posters, but never, strangely enough, at the circus itself.

In the front row sat Puma, Monkey, Seal, Leopard, Hyena, and Little Black Bear, and all their families. Next in order came Lion, Tiger, Ostrich, Great White Bear, Deer, Emu, Kangaroo, and their families; while, ranged behind these were Elephant, Camel, Hippo, Zebra, and Rhino, and their different cousins and aunts, with Giraffe and his folks still back of them.

There they sat, chattering and laughing and making quite as much of a clatter as people do at the theater, just before the curtain goes up.

“Now,” began Dan, pulling his hands from his pockets and clapping them together for silence, “it seems to me the first thing to do is to get ourselves organized.”

“Yes, yes, that is it,” answered the merry crew. “Let’s do that very thing!”

“We should begin, then,” continued Dan, “by choosing a chairman. Who, say you, shall it be?”

At this all the animals began to talk at once; but, as it was Tiger who seemed to be making the most noise, Dan said he should be the first to speak.

“Diggeldy Dan and fellow animals,” said Tiger, as he gravely stroked his chin with a huge paw, “I rise to name one who, because of the very place that he has long held among us, is especially suited to the office of chairman. One who, because of his great strength, his fairness, and kindly disposition, has long been known as ‘the King of Beasts.’ The one who—as you will remember—was the very first to be loosed from his cage. I, of course, am speaking of—Lion.”

“Hear! Hear!” came from all sides. “Lion, of course! Who else but Lion!”

“Let’s make the choice unanimous,” cried Rhino. And so, somewhat flustered, but by no means lacking in dignity, and escorted by Great White Bear and Little Black Bear, Lion came forward to accept the office to which he had been elected.

“My fellow animals,” he said, “realizing that there is still much to be done, I will be brief. First, let me thank you for the honor you have bestowed upon me and to assure you that I will do my best to serve you. While appreciating Tiger’s kindness in suggesting me for chairman, I cannot but feel that I should differ with him on one point—that is, with reference to the title ‘the King of Beasts.’ That is all very well in Jungleland, perhaps, but here in this great land of the free—with even ourselves set at liberty—I feel that the word ‘king’ should be replaced by ‘president.’ I believe that—”

But here cries of, “That’s right—Why, of course—President of Beasts!” and the like broke in upon the speaker, and the point was carried, even before Lion had finished his argument.

“Now, then, Mr. King—I mean Mr. President,” said Hippo, who had been holding a quiet consultation with the animals nearest him, “it would seem to me that we should elect a secretary before we go any further, so that an exact record may be kept of these meetings and, in due time, sent on to our good friend, Too-Bo-Tan.”

“A very commendable thought, indeed,” assented Lion. “Nominations are, therefore, in order for secretary.”

And, at this, the several animals who had had their heads together with Hippo all jumped to their feet and began to chant:

“Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,

Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”

“Why, of course,” agreed all the rest. “Who else but Diggeldy Dan!”

“I’ll furnish a quill for the pen,” said Ostrich.

“I know where there’s an old circus poster with nothing at all on the back,” cried Elephant, as he made off toward the end of the tent.

“I’ll offer myself for a table,” volunteered Hippo.

“And I’ll supply the ink,” said Dan, diving into one of his funny deep pockets and drawing forth a top, some chalk, three marbles, and—last of all—a bottle of very red ink.

And so, almost before one might have said Jack Robinson, there sat Diggeldy Dan astride Hippo’s back with the poster that Elephant had brought spread out before him, the quill that Ostrich had furnished grasped firmly in his hand, writing away for all he was worth, while all the animals crowded around, all talking at once and each trying to remember just exactly what Tiger had said when he had nominated Lion and just what Lion had said when he spoke in reply.

Of course, all this took some little time and, indeed, Dan concluded the first chapter of the interesting document with one eye to his work and the other on the Petal Watch. And, just as he had crossed the very last “t” and dotted the very last “i” the great white flower began to close. At the first sign of it, away scampered all the animals to their cages and corrals while Dan, with the aid of Monkey, having locked all the doors and fastened each chain, scurried off to make ready for the circus, folding the precious poster and tucking it away with the Petal Watch as he ran.

“To-morrow at half-past twilight,” he cried in farewell.

“To-morrow,” answered Lion, from the depths of his cage, while from all parts of the tent came the voices that echoed—“To-morrow—to-morrow—to-morrow.”

CHAPTER V
IN WHICH GIRAFFE GIVES A CHALK-TALK AND THE ANIMALS LEARN A NEW GAME

Now when the fourth day had turned to twilight and the animals of Spangleland had gathered to continue the meeting that had resulted in the election of Lion as President of Animals and Diggeldy Dan as Secretary, Zebra announced that he had a matter of much importance to bring to their attention.

“It has to do with Giraffe and his folks,” began Zebra, as he bobbed his head and flopped his long, striped ears in the direction of those to whom he referred. “As all of us are aware, neither Giraffe nor any of his ancestors have ever been known to speak. When we consider the great amount of talking many of us ofttimes do without really saying much, I am sometimes of the opinion that our big-eyed brothers show no little wisdom by preserving strict silence. Still I feel that Giraffe and his family should have a voice in our different discussions, if they so desire, and think it only fair that they be consulted as to their wishes.”

While Zebra had been speaking, it was noticed that Giraffe had been all attention and, when Lion from his place in front of all the animals, asked him if he had anything to say, he nodded most positively.

“Very well, then, Giraffe; we will, indeed, be glad to hear from you,” said Lion, as he crossed his paws and leaned back in an attitude of strict attention.

By this time, all the eyes of all the animals were on Giraffe. And so were those of Diggeldy Dan, who sat astride Hippo, the circus poster spread out before him, his pen poised in mid-air, ready to jot down any and all things that might come to pass.

And, as they watched, Giraffe unfolded his long, lanky legs and, for all the world like two boys on two pairs of tall stilts, made his way from the rear of the group and walked around to the side of Diggeldy Dan. Then, bending his mile-long neck, he thrust his nose into the depths of Dan’s pocket.

“Here, here!” cried the clown, “there are no carrots there!”

“Silence, Dan!” commanded Lion.

Even at this moment, Giraffe removed his nose and there, in the tips of his lips, was the top which, as you may remember, the clown had drawn out when he brought forth the bottle of very red ink. Down went the top on the broad back of Hippo and back went Giraffe’s nose in the pocket of Dan. And, this time, the searcher’s ears began to wiggle with delight and his eyes to twinkle with glee. For when his nose next came forth there, held tight in his mouth, was a piece of bright yellow chalk.

At sight of it a puzzled look crossed the faces of all those who watched. It was Lion who first caught the thought.

“Why, of course!” he exclaimed, with a wise nod of his head. “Giraffe proposes to talk with the chalk.”

“With the chalk, to be sure,” agreed Puma, “and I know where there’s a board. The inner side of the strips that close up my cage are all painted black. Come on, Elephant, and we’ll get one right now.”

So away the two of them went, and soon Elephant was holding the board high up in his trunk. And, as he held it in place, Giraffe wrote with the chalk:

“Very thoughtful of you—Thanks—Heartily agree with all done thus far—Giraffe.”

And, putting the chalk alongside the top, he made a low swinging bow with his long spotted neck and hurried off to his place at the rear of the group, amid the shouts and the cheers of his fellows.

While the animals were cheering or telling one another just what each had been thinking when Giraffe was rummaging Dan’s pocket, the old clown’s pen was going “scratch, scratch, scratch” back and forth across the poster.

“And now, Mr. President,” said Dan, as he finished writing and folded up the great sheet of paper, “I suggest that we forget business for a time and engage in a game that I have in mind.”

Away they all went, down through the line. Page [35].

“A fine idea,” agreed Lion as, indeed, did all the rest in one voice; that is, all but Giraffe and his folks. They nodded their approval.

“It’s a game called ‘London Bridge is Falling Down,’” went on Dan. “It was Giraffe’s long neck and Elephant’s trunk that suggested the thought. So now, suppose we begin.”

“Yes, let’s begin,” cried the animals, as they trooped into the circle that ran in front of all the red and gold cages.

“First,” called Dan, “you, Giraffe, and your folks will stand opposite one another, with your noses touching. There! That’s the way. Now, Elephant, you and your family will do the same, only raise your trunks very high and hold them together at the tips—just as if you were shaking hands way up in the air. That’s it. Fine! Now all the rest of us will go skipping down the aisle between you.”

So Dan, taking the lead and calling, “Come on, Tiger! Come on, Lion! Hi there, Hippo,” away they all went, down through the line.

“Now, back again!” shouted Dan, “and this is the song that we’ll sing as we go:

“London Bridge is falling down,

Falling down, falling down,

London Bridge is falling down,

Down, down, down!”

“Say! Hold on a minute!” cried Hippo. “I’m too wide! I can’t get through!”

“I’ll fix that,” shouted Elephant. “Up, now!” he commanded. And at the words, all of Elephant’s folks stood up on their hind legs and Hippo passed through without any trouble at all. So the game went on, with all the animals vowing that they never had had quite so much fun before in all their lives.

But, by this time, the Petal Watch had begun to close; and, at a word from Dan and the promise that he would see them again at half-past twilight on the morrow, the merry band went back to their places. As the old clown passed out of the menagerie tent, he could still hear the voices in the distance, humming the song,

“London Bridge is falling down,

Down, down, down!”

CHAPTER VI
IN WHICH THE ANIMALS SEND A MESSAGE TO THE PRETTY LADY

“And that,” finished Diggeldy Dan, “is the story of the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes.”

It was on the fifth day after she of whom Dan spoke had brought him the message from Too-Bo-Tan and, with all the animals of Spangleland gathered about him, the old clown had been telling them of her and the blue bird.

“Yes,” nodded Camel, “she is the Fairy of the Circus. I have heard my father describe her.”

“But I like the other name best,” spoke up Seal. “‘The Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes!’ When my family and I go into the great white tent to perform, we often catch a glimpse of the riders as they pass on their way from the rings. They are much like that—all pretty ladies with mounts like the White-White Horse.”

“I wish we could see her,” mused Leopard.

“Let’s send her a message,” suggested Ostrich.

“But how?” queried Kangaroo. “We’ve no one to send and, even if we had, where in the world should we send him?”

“Diggeldy Dan,” said Lion, “what have you to suggest?”

“Well,” answered Dan, “I know this much: and that is that the Pretty Lady went away toward the west. I like to believe that she makes her home in the sunset.”

“Why, if that’s the case, then that’s not far from here,” broke in Elephant.

Even while Elephant was speaking, Giraffe came forward and picked up the chalk. Then, striding to the side of a cage, he scrawled on its face:

“Not far at all—looking through eaves space in tent—this very evening—saw sun set just back of hill—’bout a mile from here—Giraffe.”

“Not more than a mile!” cried Tiger, “Only a mile!” Then he paused and looked rather foolish. For how were they to reach over even a mile.

“I know, I know, I know!” shouted Monkey, dancing up and down. “Balloons, balloons, balloons! That’s the way! That’s the—”

“Hold on there, Monkey,” interrupted Lion. “Not so fast and, for goodness’ sake, don’t get so excited. Besides, I, for one, know of no balloons in this vicinity.”

“No, no, I don’t mean truly big balloons,” explained Monkey. “Wait a minute and I’ll show you!” And away he dashed down the menagerie tent and was back in a twinkling, waving a great cluster of toy balloons over his head.

“Monkey,” admitted Lion, as he took the balloons, “I must confess that your head is ofttimes much longer than mine. Of course, you mean—”

“To write our message, tie it to the balloons and get the east wind to carry it over the hill to the place where Giraffe saw the sun go down,” finished Monkey.

And then the excitement that followed! The writing of the message fell to Diggeldy Dan and, after no end of changes—all, of course, for the better—there appeared these words written on a corner that had been torn from the great circus poster:

“Dear Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes,

At Sunset House, just over the hill:

“We all want you to visit us. We all promise to be very quiet.

“Please come at half-past twilight, to-morrow.

(Signed) “Animals of Spangleland,

“By: Diggeldy Dan, Secretary.

“P. S.—Please bring back the balloons, because they are just borrowed.

“P. S.—The White-White Horse is invited, too.”

The message completed, Diggeldy Dan produced a piece of string from one of his wonderful pockets and, aided by Monkey, tied all the sticks of all the balloons tightly together and then fastened the letter to the tip of the sticks.

“Now, then,” said Lion, “we are ready to let loose the balloons. You, Elephant, take hold of the sticks with your trunk. You, Puma, will leap to the top of your cage and hold open the eaves of the tent with your paws so that Elephant can thrust the balloons through the space and hand them to the wind as it comes out of the east.”

“I can make out the curve of a hill to the west,” called Puma, who had jumped from the ground to the roof of the cage. “Only I can’t get quite high enough to see over the top.”

“I’ll be the lookout,” cried Monkey, “that is, if Giraffe will lend me his head and step over near the eaves of the tent.” And, as Giraffe nodded assent, up the long neck he scampered and was soon perched aloft, holding tight with both hands to Giraffe’s pointed ears.

“All right, up there?” called Lion from below.

“All ready,” answered Monkey, “and here comes the east wind around the side of the tent.”

“Cast off, then, Elephant,” commanded Lion. “Let go the balloons!”

At the very same moment, Elephant gave a great “swish” with his trunk and away went the balloons through the space at the eaves.

“There they go!” shouted Monkey. “Up, up, up! Goodness, how they’re sailing! Oh! they’ve caught in a tree! No, they haven’t! Now the east wind has them again! Once more they’re off! They’re going higher and higher! And they’re bound straight for the hill! Yes, straight for the brow of the hill!”

And so, from his perch, Monkey described every inch of the flight until, to the great relief of the animals who were grouped down below, he announced that the balloons had passed over the hill.

Indeed the word came in good time, for just then there followed a quick shout from Dan, crying, “Get back to your places as fast as you can!”

Then came a wild scurrying to right and to left.

“Now, I’ll bid you good night,” said Diggeldy Dan, when the very last door had been locked. “And to-morrow we’ll learn if we were right when we guessed that the one we have written makes her home in the west.”

CHAPTER VII
IN WHICH THE ANIMALS MEET WITH A DISAPPOINTMENT AND A SURPRISE AND A STORY IS BEGUN

Now, had the keepers who slept so soundly at the foot of the big blue poles in the great menagerie tent suddenly wakened at a little after half-past twilight on the evening following that which saw the balloons go sailing over the hill, they no doubt would have rubbed their eyes, pinched themselves and then exclaimed:

“Well, of all things! Wherever can those animals be?”

But, of course, they did nothing of the kind, for the very good reason that not a single one of them so much as opened one eye. Though, if they had, where do you suppose they would have found all their charges? Away over behind the red and gold cages.

Yes, there they stood, side by side in a row, their noses pressed close against the west wall of the tent, looking for all the world like so many “catchers” in a game of hide-and-go-seek. And Diggeldy Dan was there, too. All had found peep-holes in the canvas and through these they peered eagerly in the direction of Sunset House. They were watching for the Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes.

“Every one to his place,” Lion had commanded, when the merry crew had been loosed, but a few moments before. “And then we will see who will be the first to catch a glimpse of the one who will ride out of the west. Not a word from a soul, until she comes into view.”

At first it was fun, but, as the minutes dragged by and no movement was seen, the watchers began to grow restless. Seal started to twist and to turn. Next, Puma’s tail was seen to curl and to wave; while Zebra switched his with quick little jerks. Then Hippo heaved a great sigh that must surely have been heard a whole mile away. Finally, Monkey, who was never known to keep entirely quiet, could stand it no longer.

“Lion,” he whispered.

No answer.

“Lion,” repeated Monkey.

“Well, what is it?” answered Lion at last, from his place near the middle of the line.

“I—I don’t want to watch any longer.”

“Have patience and be quiet, sir,” ordered Lion.

So the watch went on. A minute passed, and another, and another. Then something went, “Bang!”

“What was that?” demanded Lion.

“I—I was standing on my tail and—and went to sleep,” answered Kangaroo, in a very sheepish voice. “I—I fell down and bumped my head against Rhino’s cage.”

“And it was newly varnished but yesterday,” muttered Rhino.

Then Monkey giggled and that set Hyena to laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Even Lion was obliged to smile though, a moment later, his face took on a very serious look.

“Perhaps we have waited long enough,” he admitted, rather sadly. “I fear something must have happened. What do you think, Diggeldy Dan?”

“I don’t know just what to say, Lion,” answered Dan. “You see, I was quite sure the Pretty Lady made her home in the west. It is all my fault. I am very sorry.”

“There, there,” said Lion, as he placed a paw on the old clown’s shoulder. “Surely, none of us would think of blaming you, Dan.”

“So come,” he called out to the rest, “let us go to the center of the tent; for we will watch no longer to-day.”

Once they knew they might leave their places, the animals were less eager to do so. For they suddenly realized how disappointed they were now that they were not to see the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes.

“Now,” began Lion, after all had been seated, and doing his best to speak gayly, “I suggest that we—”

But what it was Lion had in mind no one ever came to know; for, just at that moment, he was interrupted by a pattering shower of silvery rain! The shimmering flecks fell everywhere, round the animals, on their heads and on their backs.

“What in the world is this?” exclaimed Lion.

“Why, they’re spangles!” cried Elephant, who had picked up some of the bits with the tip of his trunk.

“Spangles, sure enough,” agreed Diggeldy Dan, “though I never saw any as bright nor have I ever known spangles to come out of the sky.”

“But they can’t have come from the sky,” reasoned Tiger; “for how could they have passed through the roof of the tent?”

Then, as if to prove Tiger wrong, there came a second and even greater shower than before. This time there were so many spangles that they fairly tinkled as they fell, while mingling with their tinkling was a rippling laugh that sounded like silver bells played all in a row. And, of all marvelous things, the voice came from the depths of the great red and golden home that belonged to Giraffe!

Instantly, all eyes were turned toward the house on the wheels. At the very same moment its doors swung apart and there, framed by the opening, stood the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes!

Even as the animals stared in open-mouthed wonder, their golden-haired visitor threw back her head and laughed until from her eyes came tears, as glistening as the spangles that dotted the ground. Then she stopped quite as suddenly as she had begun, and, putting her left foot behind her and the tip of one finger to the tip of her chin, made so graceful a courtesy that all the animals found themselves trying to do the very same thing, though it must be confessed that some of them made a rather awkward job of it.

As for Diggeldy Dan, he made the very grandest bow that any clown ever made, while, taking his cue from Dan, Lion put one paw to his heart and said in very solemn tones:

“Dear Lady, we one and all bid you welcome, though how you got here we are at an entire loss to know.”

“Why,” answered the Pretty Lady, as she tripped from the doorway to where Lion stood, “I came in under the wall near the end. I went right past your nose, Kangaroo; in fact, I think you were napping.”

And, at that, you may be sure a certain animal looked very foolish.

“Then,” she continued, “I hid in Giraffe’s house and, after you were seated, began tossing spangles through the window near the top. You see I always carry a bag of them that I may sprinkle the sunset whenever I pass.”

“So you do live at Sunset House,” said Diggeldy Dan.

“Just over the hill, where the sky turns to pink. The balloons and the message came in through my window last night.”

“Goodness! You didn’t forget to bring them back, did you?”

“Monkey!” cried Lion reprovingly, for you might have guessed who had spoken.

But the Lady only laughed at the question.

“Indeed, I did not,” she replied; and with that she gave three quick claps with her hands, while from somewhere in galloped the White-White Horse. And there, clasped to a buckle of his snowy trappings, were the balloons that had gone over the hill. Soon they were taken to where Monkey had found them; but, alas, the next moment the Lady had leaped to her place and was gone down the tent like a shot!

“No, no!” cried all the animals. “Please, please don’t go away.”

“Oh, please don’t,” wailed Monkey. “I didn’t mean to be rude when I asked about the balloons.”

“I’m not going away,” the Lady laughed back. “I’m just combing my hair, and the mane and the tail of my White-White Horse.”

And around the great circle the two of them sped; then stopped in front of the animals again.

“You see,” said the Lady, as she tossed back her curls, “combs and brushes are so much bother that we never carry them, but just let the rush of the wind take their place. But now that is done, pray tell me why you sent for me and what I’m to do?”

“Tell us a story,” cried Ostrich.

“About Too-Bo-Tan,” suggested Little Black Bear.

“Yes, yes!” chimed all the rest, “about Too-Bo-Tan.”

“Very well,” nodded the Lady; and, leaning forward on the back of the White-White Horse, with her chin cupped in one hand, she began:

“Many years ago—so very many that there are not enough stripes on Zebra’s sides, nor yet on his ears, to count them—there lived in far-away Jungleland a very wise monkey, named Vargu. In those days the different animals mingled not at all, each being content to keep solely to the company of his very own kind. Now, one day, this monkey named Vargu was seated in the fork of a tree, quite lost in deep thought, when a leopard trotted by underneath. Spying the leopard—”

“Pretty Lady, Pretty Lady,” Diggeldy Dan interrupted.

“Dan!” cried Lion.

“But the Watch, the Petal Watch—it’s closing!” answered the clown in despair.

“Goodness, so it is,” echoed the Lady. “But you shall not miss the story, for I will come again on the morrow. With the twilight I’ll come—until then fare you well.”

And with that she was gone like a flash through the dusk, while the animals all hurried back to their places, each wondering what it was they were to hear the next day of the very wise monkey named Vargu.

CHAPTER VIII
IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY CONTINUES HER STORY

Hidden away in the folds of that mantle called twilight which, as every one knows, is laid over the earth with every setting of the sun, is a wee little hour that is fairly made for the telling of stories. And to those of Spangleland who know how to find it—though none save they who possess the Petal Watch will ever learn how—there is a very minute which marks the beginning of half-past twilight. And that is the best time of all.

With its coming the blue of the tent-poles seems to grow a shade softer and the great, rope-fretted roof and the lazy, breeze-wafted walls melt from white into gray. It is then that the red and gold cages slyly gleam from their places in the circle they form, and, most wonderful of all, then that every door opens, thanks to good Too-Bo-Tan.

And on this particular evening of which you are to hear, you may be sure that the funny old clown in the polka-dot suit—that’s Diggeldy Dan—and the chattering brown fellow with the twinkling brown eyes—Monkey, of course—had loosed all the animals much faster than ever before. The reason? You’ve guessed it—the promised story from the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes.

Hardly had the animals taken their places, when there came the sound of hoof-beats mingling with the laugh that was so like to tinkle bells, and into the circle galloped the White-White Horse, bearing the one for whom they all waited.

“A merry twilight!” she cried, as the two came to a stop in front of the group.

“A merry twilight to you,” answered Lion; and then all the rest added their voices in greeting while Dan, skipping to the side of the White-White Horse, offered his round, pointed hat as a cup to receive the Pretty Lady’s foot that he might assist her to alight. This she accepted as quick as a wink and, tossing her slim, little whip and the bag with the spangles to the broad back of Hippo, made a quick little run and a quick little bound, twitched her toe-tips together just as riders always do at the circus, and then ran straight to the seat in the midst of the animals.

“Now,” said she, “if you will pay the strictest attention, I’ll go on with the story. But, first, who will tell me just how it began?”

At this all the animals talked at one time and there arose such a din that the Pretty Lady put her two hands to her ears in direst despair.

“Order! Order!” shouted Lion. “Gracious, what a racket! Giraffe, since you were the only one who remained silent, you may tell us the first part of the tale.”

So Giraffe took the chalk and, going to the side of his house, wrote these words:

“Many years ago—that time animals mixed with own folks only—wise monkey—Vargu by name—thinking—in tree—Leopard passes underneath—Signed: Giraffe.”

“Exactly,” cried the Lady. “You see, the very wise monkey named Vargu had been sitting there wondering why it was that the different kinds of animals could not be more sociable. So, when the leopard came in sight, what do you suppose Vargu did? A most unheard of and a most daring thing—he spoke to him! Now at first the leopard, whose name was Soft Foot, could not believe his ears, so he kept straight on his way. But Vargu was determined. He spoke once again. And with that, the leopard stopped full in his tracks and gazed at the monkey in utter amazement.

“‘Why, What does this mean!’ he called up to the other. ‘You cannot speak to me. You are a monkey.’

“‘Ah,’ answered Vargu, ‘but I can speak to you even if I am a monkey. And, if you don’t believe it, just listen to this: Hello, Mister Leopard! Hello! Hello! Hello!’ And, with that, he went scampering to the very top of the tree.

“For a moment Soft Foot made as if to spring into the tree. But he finally contented himself with blinking his eyes in a dazed sort of way, and then making off through the maze of the grass, shaking his head as he went. Yet, try as he would, he could not forget what had happened. He thought of it as he was going to sleep and he thought of it when he wakened. Then curiosity got the better of him and the next afternoon found him trotting along beneath the very same tree. And there, as before, sat the monkey called Vargu.

“‘Hi there, Mister Leopard; glad to see you again,’ shouted the monkey from his place up above. ‘Better stop and visit a while. I know a mighty fine story.’

“‘I don’t want to hear it,’ snarled Soft Foot. ‘Besides, as I warned you yesterday, leopards and monkeys can’t speak to one another. Leopards talk to leopards and that’s enough.’ And away he went through the grass.

“Now, that very same night, when all the leopards were gathered together, Great Spot, the biggest of them all, began to tell one of his stories. Some of the baby leopards were interested, but as for Soft Foot, he had heard the tale so many times that he knew it by heart. So, putting his nose between his paws, he lay with his thoughts far away. He was thinking of the monkey who lived in the tree. ‘He wanted to tell me a story,’ mused Soft Foot. ‘I wonder what it was about.’

“And so, though leopards never, never had anything to do with any animals except their very own kind, it somehow happened that the following evening found Soft Foot trotting along under the same tree again.

“There sat the monkey but, to Soft Foot’s surprise, he spoke not a word. So the leopard moved on to the deep grass beyond. But, after a moment, he walked back again. And still the monkey uttered never a sound. For a third time he passed and then Soft Foot could stand the silence no longer.

“‘Well,’ he blurted, ‘aren’t you going to say anything?’

“Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its toes for counters.” Page [59].

“Now, at this precise moment the monkey called Vargu did a far more daring thing than he had done when he first spoke to Soft Foot. He made a great swing from the branch where he sat and landed plump under his visitor’s nose! With a start of surprise, the leopard crouched back and for a moment he made as if he were going to leap off through the grass. Had he done so, I’m sure I don’t know what might have come of this tale. Indeed, I’m afraid there might have been none to tell. For who knows but what, failing at this very time, Vargu might never have accomplished his plan. But, without so much as moving one inch from the point he had reached on the ground when he swung, he calmly sat down and at once began to count on his toes.

“‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven’ (long breath) ‘eight, nine, ten—Dear me! I wonder if I’m going to have enough,’ exclaimed he to himself, just as if there wasn’t another animal for miles and miles around. Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its toes for counters all over again.