TOP O’ THE WORLD
A Once upon a Time Tale

Waiting for the Queen. (Page 131.)

TOP O’ THE WORLD
A Once upon a Time Tale

By
Mark E. Swan

Pictures by Hy. Mayer

New York
E. P. Dutton & Company
31 West Twenty-Third Street

Copyright
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
1908

All Rights Reserved

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

THE TOP O’ THE WORLD was made into a story by permission of Mr. J. M. Allison from the fanciful extravaganza, THE TOP O’ THE WORLD. Book by Mark E. Swan, Lyrics by James O’Dea, Music by Anna Caldwell and Manuel Klein.

TO MY LITTLE NIECE
MARION
WHO LOVES ICE-CREAM

FOREWORD

Oh, little ones, with your pink cheeks and shining eyes, come clamber on my knee, put your arms about my neck, and listen with all your ears while I tell you a tale of

ONCE UPON A TIME.

Illustrations in Color

Illustrations in Black and White

THE TOP O’ THE WORLD

Chapter I

The Wishing Post grows right out of the ground at the Top of the World. Some very wise men with bald heads and long white beards say it isn’t a Wishing Post at all, and call it the North Pole, but Maida knows more about it than they do for she has been there and they haven’t. She really and truly went there in a flying ship, and I can’t begin to tell you all that she saw and all that she did, but I will try and remember as much as I can.

If you doubt my story ask Maida herself. She is a dear little girl, just nine, with curly brown hair and deep blue eyes, and she lives in a big house with papa and mama and Aunt Mary. If you want to find her go to Central Park and turn to the left. Maida’s house is the third from the corner. I don’t just remember the number, and I’ve forgotten the street, but as she nearly always wears a red dress and you know how she looks, you can easily find her.

All the trouble began because Maida was such a little girl. She was just big enough to know how little she was, and she didn’t like being a little girl at all. She wanted to be grown up. She told me so herself. She had reasons, too, oh so many. To begin with, there was ICE-CREAM. Maida loved ICE-CREAM. She could never get enough. (Perhaps you can never get enough, so you know just how she felt.) And she could eat and eat and eat, and ICE-CREAM never hurt her. On this point she differed with papa and mama.

Once she awoke in the night with a most burning feeling right in her tummy, and had to drink all sorts of horrid medicine before she felt better. But she could not convince mama and papa it was the brown bread and baked beans she had eaten two days before. They insisted it was three plates of ice-cream for supper. Grown-ups are so silly sometimes.

Then there was bedtime. Maida hated to go off to bed as soon as supper was over and leave everyone else up having a good time. Just at dusk when the flames in the fireplace began to dance and glitter and flash—and she could see castles and trees and mountains in the coals—SOMEBODY with a white cap and apron would snatch her up and carry her off to a little pink and white room and plump her into a pink and white bed—when she wasn’t a bit sleepy. Maida often meant to rebel at such treatment, but somehow when she cuddled up in the pink and white bed and finished yawning, she overlooked it, and the next thing—it would be morning.

Still this ruffled her dignity every time it happened—as if she were sleepy, and didn’t know it, and she realized—just as you do—that it was because she was a little girl; for grown-ups can stay awake as long as they like.

“She could see castles ... in the coals”

Then there were the clothes. Maida wore dresses which reached only to her knees, and plain little petticoats, while her shoes were so strong and tough—oh, you’ll never believe what tough shoes they were unless you wear the same kind. It was almost impossible to kick holes in them. Then her hair was done in a braid and she had to wear a pinafore—oh, I can’t tell you how badly Maida felt about her clothes—especially when she looked at Aunt Mary. Aunt Mary wore fluffy dresses all hangy and traily, and the sweetest slippers with great high heels, and her hair was puffed out all over her head—oh, it was simply beautiful.

Aunt Mary Wore Fluffy Dresses

And Aunt Mary read lovely books too, all about lords and ladies, while all of Maida’s books were about, Where is Peru? and, How many is six times eight? Poor Maida, she had so many troubles—but you understand, don’t you? So she wished and wished with all her heart that she were a really grown-up; that she could read those lovely books and have her hair fuzzed all over her head—that she could wear those traily, hangy gowns, and stay up nights, and never, never, NEVER have to eat anything but ICE-CREAM.

Chapter II

If you stand with one hand on the Wishing Post, and think hard of what you would like most in all the world, your wish comes true. Isn’t that lovely? Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? But it isn’t a fairy tale at all, it’s really true. Of course those old men with the goggles and the bald heads don’t believe it. If you ask them they will tell you the North Pole is just the end of the axis of the earth, whatever that may mean, and they will insist it isn’t a Wishing Post at all. Now, when they tell you this, here’s a crusher for them. Ask them how they know. Ask them if they’ve ever been there to see. Just see what they say to that. Maida has been there, and she knows all about it. To commence at the very beginning, this is how she came to make the trip.

One evening, Maida was lying on the hearth kicking her fat legs in the air and watching the Flame Folk when she heard somebody (you know which one I mean—the one with the white cap and apron) coming. Now of course Maida wasn’t the least bit sleepy and she did not want to go to bed, so she slipped out of the door and down the long hall to the very end. Then she heard somebody talking—oh, such a fine voice somebody had, just like the growl of a bear—but a nice soft growl, mind you—and what the Man with the Growly Voice said must have been ever so funny, for Aunt Mary laughed and laughed. So Maida peeked. There sat Aunt Mary in one of the traily, fluffy dresses, and her pretty neck and arms looked so pink and soft, and her eyes were so bright and her cheeks were so red, that Maida envied her clear to the tips of her toes. The Man with the Growly Voice sat oh very close to Aunt Mary, and he was smiling a little and holding Aunt Mary’s hand (Aunt Mary did not seem to mind a bit), then Maida heard him say—“Name the day.”

So she went boldly in (because Aunt Mary knew it was some kind of a riddle or something and didn’t answer), and said to the Man with the Growly Voice, “How can anybody name days? There are only seven and they’re already named—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Then it begins all over again.” That must have been the answer to the joke, for Aunt Mary laughed, and the Man with the Growly Voice laughed, and the first thing Maida knew she was sitting on his knee, all comfy and happy. Well, the Man with the Growly Voice was an Arctic Explorer—if you know what that means. If you don’t, I’ll tell you. It’s a man who wants to go away up North so far that his next step will start him South; and he had just come back from the land where it is always Winter.

Somehow Maida found him the nicest grown-up she had ever met, he was so interested in everything she said, and somehow when she was cuddled against his big arm, with her nose nestled against his breast it was so easy to explain that she was tired—oh, so tired of being a little girl; and tell him all her troubles.

He listened to every word and then he told her about the Wishing Post. He had really seen it many, many times—he had made ever so many wishes and all but one had come true and he had great hopes of that. He must have told Aunt Mary about the wish for she seemed so interested.

Growly Voice Eats Snowballs

Then the Man with the Growly Voice told Maida lots and lots of other things,—not stories mind you, true tales. He had been so long in the cold North that he could only sleep in the refrigerator, and he had to eat icicles and snowballs all the time because he was used to them. Then he told her of the Eskimos; funny little tame Indians who guard the North Pole, with great white bears, so no one can steal it, and when he dined with them they gave him nothing to eat but ice-cream.

Aunt Mary Gets a Sealskin Coat

Think of it, all the little Eskimo children just eating ice-cream all day long. Maida decided she would be an Eskimo. Oh, the wonders he told her. How the seals swim in once a year with their cast-off skins and give them to the traders in return for charlotte russe and sugar-plums, and this was something Maida was glad to find out, for she never could understand how Aunt Mary could get a sealskin coat without hurting the seal, so it was quite a relief to find the seals were glad to exchange them for charlotte russe and sugar-plums. But the most wonderful thing of all was the day the Man with the Growly Voice met Santa Claus, for he did really meet him face to face. It seems the Eskimos have Christmas on the Fourth of July, so Santa Claus drove about all day in his sledge with the six reindeer, giving away presents and taking the little Eskimo children for a ride. What a happy little girl Maida was that night, for somebody in a white cap and apron didn’t know where to find her, and there she was sitting up for once with the grown-ups and not a bit sleepy, not a bit.

She grew so intent on the wonders told her by the Man with the Growly Voice that now and then she would miss something he said. Then Aunt Mary would laugh as if Maida were drowsy, which of course she wasn’t. Of all his tales the Wishing Post was the best. If she could only go there and wish herself grown up, oh, wouldn’t that be splendid. So she made him promise to take her on his next voyage. She was so happy when he said he would, she shut her eyes to think about it, besides the light was very bright and—well, to this day Maida doesn’t remember what else the Man with the Growly Voice told her that night.

Chapter III

And then she found herself—in bed—wasn’t that a shame. She had been so happy sitting on the knee of the Man with the Growly Voice, so interested in his stories, then that somebody (with the white cap and apron) had carried her off to bed. She couldn’t remember a thing about it, but of course that is the way it must have happened. Oh, if she could only find the Wishing Post, things like this would not happen, she’d see to that. What a wonderful thing it must be, this Wishing Post, and how she would love to see it—and—what a strange light was coming in the window. It was not morning, so it could not be sunlight, besides, sunlight is so bright. And it wasn’t a bit like moonlight, either. She grew very much interested, and sat up in bed to see. She was not at all afraid, for Maida was always a brave little girl, besides—comforting thought, if one did call out, why, somebody (with a white cap and apron) was just in the next room. What a strange light—all pale and green and shimmering. My, isn’t that a long word! but it means the kind of light you see in dreams, and it seemed to come from under the window. Maida watched it as long as she could, but finally she crept out of bed, went to the window, and what do you think she saw outside—a really and truly flying machine. It was a long bag of cloth like a great big cigar, and underneath it was the dearest little wicker house something like a boat. She could see strange engines through the windows, and there were wings at the sides, and at the back a rudder. There was a steering wheel behind the wicker house, and beside it stood the Man with the Growly Voice. He looked up, saw her, smiled, and waved his hand.

Maida Crept Out of Bed

“I’ve come to take you to the Wishing Post,” he said. Maida started to climb out of the window, but she thought better of it when the Man with the Growly Voice spoke again. “Don’t you think,” he said, “that you had better dress before we start? It will be rather chilly at the North Pole, with nothing on but a pink and white nightie.” How her fingers flew! She found all her clothes nicely piled on a chair beside her bed, and she dressed quicker than she ever dressed before, or since. Luckily her pretty white fur coat Aunt Mary had given her was hanging in the closet, and the cap beside it. She put them on, and as the coat reached to her feet she felt very warm and comfy. You will never know how quietly she opened the door. You will never know how “creepy” she stole down the stair. But just as she opened the big front door she happened to think of mama and papa and Aunt Mary. She thought they might be worried, so she sat down to write them a note. Maida could write very well for such a little girl, although her T’s and her F’s would persist in looking alike, or worse still, when she meant to make a W an M would hop into its place. Well, this note was the best thing she had ever written. She had no idea she could write so rapidly. All the letters made themselves properly and somehow got into the right place. Altogether, it was a splendid letter. As nearly as I remember, it ran something like this:

“Dear Mama, and Papa, and Aunt Mary:

“I was afraid you might be worried when you found me gone, and I was afraid to tell you because you might not let me go. I’ll be back in a day or two. I’ve only gone with a gentleman to find the North Pole and wish to be grown up. With dearest love,

“Maida.”

Dear Mama Papa and Aunt Mary:

She knew that when they got her note they wouldn’t be worried at all. Then she went out and closed the big front door behind her. The Man with the Growly Voice was waiting and he lifted her into the little wicker house. “This is your room,” he said, showing her into a little cabin, and it was just lovely; all cuddly and comfy and bright. The little brass bed shone and shone; the pretty mirror reflected her happy face. The lights danced and flickered—ah, in every way it was just exactly like what a room in a flying ship should be.

Then she noticed they were going up—they passed the roof, then the chimney, then the church steeple next door. The house grew smaller and smaller until she couldn’t tell it from the houses beside it. They floated over the Park and Maida could see the lights of the city underneath her—and—then over the river with the boats going out and coming in.

And she didn’t feel at all strange or in the least frightened. It all seemed perfectly natural and usual. A dreadful doubt assailed her. Suppose she were not awake. Suppose she was asleep and dreaming. “Excuse me,” she said timidly to the Man with the Growly Voice, “but will you please tell me your name?” “My name,” he growled in reply, “is Morse.” “Well then Mr. Morse,” she said, “tell me, please, honest to goodness cross your heart—am I awake?” And the Man with the Growly Voice crossed his heart and said, “Yes.” So that was settled, for of course he wouldn’t tell a story and say she was awake if she were asleep. Oh, what a happy little Maida, drifting—drifting far above the clouds, no more lessons or oatmeal porridge, or short frocks. Never again. Never would she have to go to bed at twilight. Traily, fluffy dresses and sit up nights and ice-cream—oh, lots and lots of ice-cream, for she was going to the Wishing Post and she would never come back till she had grown up.

Chapter IV

They flew and flew and flew. Maida could look out of her window and see the lights in houses far beneath. By and by the sky turned gray, little streaks of silver began to appear and the stars overhead grew pale. The streaks of silver turned to pink, to crimson, and then a huge red ball of fire seemed to shoot up out of the sea and hang in the East. “What is it?” asked Maida. She was quite surprised when the Man with the Growly Voice told her it was the sun. She had never seen the sun look like that—for never before had she been awake at sunrise. Over great lakes they sailed, and over forests of pines and ranges of high mountains, but there were no more cities and towns, only tents with Indians standing about them. And all the time the Man with the Growly Voice stood beside the wheel, steering the airship and looking straight ahead; you know how careful papa has to be when he takes you out in his auto car? Well—it’s just like that when one is sailing a flying machine, only it’s harder because an auto can only turn to the right or left, and if anything happens to the sparking plug or the jibboom, why papa can take the monkey-wrench and the hammer and the saw and the screw-driver and crawl under the auto to fix it. Then when he finds he’s only made it worse he can get a horse to haul you home again.

“When one is sailing a flying machine”

But a flying machine can turn to the right and to the left. Besides that, it can go up or down or sideways or turn over and over, and my goodness, when anything happens to the sparking plug or the jibboom of a flying machine you don’t have time to crawl under and fix it, for it falls and falls—and—oh, it’s “shuddery” to think of such a thing.

Well—Maida knew the Man with the Growly Voice must be tired, and besides it was breakfast time, so she asked him to let her sit by the wheel and steer the flying machine a while:—then he could rest and get breakfast, and of course he did. She was a very proud little girl as she sat there guiding the airship through the air, and before long she began to play a bit.

It was great sport to make a long dip downward and just miss the top of a mountain. It was quite a joke to glide along behind an eagle and take him by surprise and watch him flap his wings madly to get out of the way, as she hooted the horn, “hoot, hoot.” Did I tell you that all flying ships have horns, just like automobiles? Well they do, to warn the birds and frighten the shooting stars away. Oh, she was having a lovely time.

Then the Man with the Growly Voice appeared in the door with a look of dismay on his face. “I was in such a hurry to get away,” he said, “that I forgot to bring a single thing to eat. Isn’t that just like an Arctic Explorer? You see we’re so anxious to explore we forget all about such things as food and clothes and fuel.”

“Maybe we could borrow some ice-cream from one of the little Eskimo children,” faltered Maida timidly and she became so intent on thinking about the breakfast she couldn’t have, that before she knew what she was doing she ran slap-bang into a comet. Of course the comet had no business there, and it was just as much surprised as Maida for it shouted and shouted, but before they could stop they were right in the midst of the tail. The Man with the Growly Voice sprang to the bow. “Splice the bowsprit,” he roared. “Shiver the mainsail”—“luff-luff.” “Please sir, I don’t know how to luff-luff,” quavered Maida. Alas, it was no use. The comet switched its tail; because it does tickle a comet when a flying ship gets tangled up in its tail—and one of the wings fell off the side of the ship. Then they began to go down, down, down.

The Birds Came to the Rescue

Did you ever fall out of bed in the night, when you were half asleep? Well it felt just like that, only a million times worse. Down, down, down. “Oh, haven’t you got a life-preserver or something,” sobbed Maida. But the Man with the Growly Voice didn’t answer, he only stood and said things like—well, like Uncle George says when he tries to drive a nail and hits his thumb. Which was very naughty of him. Then just when Maida had given up in despair and was so frightened her heart had stopped beating—just when she was saying “Now—for an awful bump,” a wonderful thing happened. Two of the very birds she had been teasing flew up, one seized the Man with the Growly Voice by the collar and the other seized Maida, then they flew gently with them down to the ground—and there wasn’t any bump at all. Then they all sat and looked at each other.

Chapter V

“Do you know,” said Maida, “I believe the birds are laughing at us?”

Well, it really looked as though they were. Both of them sat staring first at Maida, then at the Explorer; now and then flapping their wings and making a sort of noise like—just like—did you ever slip on the ice and sit down hard when you weren’t expecting to do anything of the sort, and then did you hear someone across the street or in the next house giggle about it? Well, perhaps Maida only imagined it, but that is exactly the kind of noise those two birds were making. After a while they rose in the air, slowly flapping their big wings—flew about the wreck of the airship a few times, just to show how much better real wings are than made wings, then they disappeared in the distance. Maida was getting cold.

“As long as you’re an Explorer,” she said, “don’t you think you had better explore something? Where are we?”

“Why, here,” said the Man with the Growly Voice, “just here. If we weren’t here, you know, we’d be somewhere else.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Maida doubtfully, “and do you mind telling me where “here” is? Because I’ve an idea it isn’t anywhere.”

“I suppose you’ve studied geography,” said the Man with the Growly Voice. “Oh, no,” Maida pouted, “I hate it.” “Too bad,” he answered. “If you had studied geography, you’d know exactly where we are.” “Haven’t you studied it?” asked Maida. “Let’s change the subject,” was his reply. Maida began to shiver.

The Explorer took from his pocket a small tablet wrapped in tissue paper, which looked very much like a piece of candy. He took the paper off and threw the tablet on the ground, just as you pop torpedoes on the Fourth of July. In an instant all the ice and snow began to melt. Grass began to grow. Maida could feel it under her feet—pushing to come up, it was growing so fast. Some little flowers suddenly peeped from the turf. There was no fire, no smoke, but everything was warm and sweet, just like a Spring day.

“My goodness! What did you do?” said Maida, as she stopped shivering. “What was that?” she continued. “It would be lovely when the janitor doesn’t turn on the steam.”

“That,” said the Explorer, “is a tablet of condensed climate. I gathered it in Mexico. Down there they have very warm weather, very warm indeed, so I simply condensed the heat into these little tablets; and that reminds me, I’ve a tin can full of it on the airship. I’d better get it as I think we’ll need it. The tablets are not very strong. One of them will only heat up a city for a year or so, but I’ve enough in the can to turn Greenland into Africa.” So he strapped the can of condensed climate on his back.

At this moment they saw someone coming toward them through the high grass. As the stranger drew near Maida noticed that he was a very handsome young man with wonderful broad shoulders and long curly hair. He did not appear to see them but walked steadily on with his eyes fastened on the horizon, and would have passed them but Maida stopped him and asked him who he was and where he was going.

“I am a disconsolate lover,” he replied, “and I seek one in the far North.”

“Tell me all about it,” said Maida eagerly, for she loved romance.

“You’ll laugh at me, I know,” he answered, “but I must tell someone, for my heart is full of it. One night I seemed to float away to a beautiful land all pure and white and in this strange place was a lady, tall and slender with cheeks like snow-drops and eyes like stars. Ah, she was so fair and white. She beckoned and I drew near. She smiled and I awoke, but I can not forget. Always in my dreams I see her smiling, beckoning. I have sought her through the North. I will never rest until I find her.”

“Do you think,” inquired Maida anxiously, “that you will find her soon?” “Oh yes,” he replied, “I am sure of it. I must find her soon,” and he strode away with his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“I’ve a splendid idea,” said Maida, “if he’s going to find the lady soon, let us follow him. Perhaps she’ll be able to tell us where we can get breakfast.”

“Now that is really a splendid idea,” said the Man with the Growly Voice, “and we will.” So they did. But before long they began to find it cold again (the tablet of climate was such a little one). They began to find ice and snow in places. Bye and bye Maida heard something behind her and turned around, and there was a wolf. Oh, such an awful creature. What do you think Maida did? What would you do? Scream? Well, that’s what she did.

“He’ll eat us!” she wailed. “Oh, haven’t you a gun or something to shoot him?”

The Wolf Swallows a Tablet of Climate

The Man with the Growly Voice took another tablet of climate from his pocket and just as the wolf rushed at them with wide open jaws, he tossed the tablet in its mouth. My, what a surprise for that wolf! He thought he was going to have a nice little girl for breakfast, and presto! he had swallowed three or four days of awfully hot weather. He rolled and yelped and jumped about—well, if you want to know just exactly how he behaved, borrow a tablet of climate from the Explorer; go up there where Maida was, and give it to the first wolf that comes along. Then you’ll see.

Finally the wolf ran away as hard as he could. But the climate he had swallowed made everything warm as it passed. So they all three followed it along a nice grassy lane bordered with flowers, and warm as a Spring day.

Chapter VI

Maida began to think the disconsolate lover was mistaken about finding the “Lady” soon. There seemed to be no sign of her. And they walked and walked and walked. At last, in the distance, they saw a house. Not a great big fine house such as Maida lived in at home, but a low hut built of heavy logs with a slanting roof and a high chimney with lots of smoke coming out of it. The wolf passed by the house without stopping for it was in a hurry to go somewhere and get something cool to drink, but the disconsolate lover knocked loudly on the door.

“I wonder if the lady lives here,” said Maida. The disconsolate lover knocked again, and again, and finally the door swung open and they all walked in. They were in a toy shop. The house looked—oh, ever so much larger now that they were in, than it did from the outside. There were long rooms filled with toys and dollies. There were benches and shelves where toys were being made by funny little men. The walls and rafters were hung with all sorts of jumping-jacks and—oh, everything children like.

The lad who opened the door stood looking at them. He was dressed all in leather and his hair hung over his neck. Maida was sure she had never seen such a nice friendly looking boy. “My name is Billy,” he said. “Whose little boy are you?” “If you please,” replied Maida, “I’m not a boy—I’m a little girl,” and she threw open her long fur cloak so he could see what a pretty dress she wore. At once all the little workmen stopped work and crowded about her, for strange as it may seem they had hardly ever seen a little girl. Maida was quite frightened and looked about for the Man with the Growly Voice—or the Disconsolate Lover, but as neither of them were in sight she ran to Billy for protection and cuddled in his arms. “What’s the matter with them?” she faltered. Billy laughed. “They’re curious to see you,” he replied, “because you’re a little girl.” “Little girls must be scarce up here,” observed Maida (still nestling close to Billy). Billy laughed again. “Scarce,” he said, “why I should say they are!” So he sent the workmen back to their benches and gave Maida all the ice-cream she could eat for breakfast. It was good ice-cream too, still—just for once she wouldn’t have minded if she could have had a cup of coffee and a slice of bacon. After breakfast Billy showed her all over the shop, and she was allowed to see the workmen making toys. When they returned to the great room who should they meet but a huge Eskimo and his pretty little daughter, both dressed entirely in furs.

The Eskimo was very grand. “I am Kankakee,” he said, and waving his hand toward his daughter added, “this is Kokomo, my daughter,” upon which Kokomo came to Maida and made a lovely curtsey saying something that sounded like—well I can hardly tell you just what it was like. Did you ever hear an angry old hen calling her chickens? Well it was something like that, and something like the rattle on the trolley car when the man lets off the brake—for poor little Kokomo could not speak English—only Eskimo.

“So you’re an Eskimo,” said Maida, “can you tell me about the Wishing Post?”

The big Eskimo drew himself up proudly. “I can tell you all about it,” he replied, “for I am a great man, and very wise, also I know many things. The Wishing Post grows out of the earth at the Top of the World and if one makes a wish upon it the wish will come true.”

Maida was overjoyed. “I am going to make a wish just as soon as I find it,” she told him. “You find it!” he said scornfully, “why it is death for mortal to try to cross the Forbidden Land, to reach the city of Illusia. Even I have never crossed those icy wastes, and should you find the Post you would be put to death by the Queen of the North, Aurora Borealis, or her Prime Minister, Jack Frost. Look!” and he pointed out of the window, “you can see the lights shining from her crown—when she is pleased the light is white; when she is jealous it is green. When she is sad the light is blue, and when she is angry the light is red.” At this moment a huge stream of red light waved about and cast a red glow over all the room.

“My goodness!” said Maida, “she must be in a dreadful temper to-day!” But the Eskimo and his daughter only drew their fur robes about them and walked away. Maida would have followed them to find out some more but she ran plump into the roundest, jolliest, old man you ever saw. He wore a long green coat and big leather boots, and his long hair and beard were snow-white. Oh, he was so fat and so jolly! His face was red and chubby and he had the nicest smile; he reminded her of some one but she couldn’t think just who it was. He was very much surprised to see Maida. “Well, well!” he shouted, “a little girl. Come sit on my knee, my dear, and tell me all about it.”

Maida Meets Santa Claus

So Maida sat on his knee and told him all about it. “I’m going to the Wishing Post,” she said, “and wish to be grown up.”

“Grown up?” replied the chubby old man. “Why childhood is the happiest time of life.”

“That’s what the grown-ups tell us,” Maida answered, “but I guess they’ve forgotten all about it. I don’t suppose you were ever spanked and put to bed without your supper because you wouldn’t learn your lessons.”

The chubby old man became very earnest and a little sad. “If you grow up quickly,” he said, “you won’t care for dollies and candy any more. You can’t sit like this on my knee, and you’ll always be puzzling your pretty little head because you’ve nothing to wear.”

Maida looked at him rather puzzled. “Your face looks so—so familiar to me,” she said, “I’ve seen you somewhere but I can’t remember where it was.”

Billy looked at Maida and smiled. “Why in your picture books,” he laughed. “Don’t you know who this is? Why Santa Claus, of course.” And it was.

Chapter VII

How would you like to meet Santa Claus face to face? How would you like him to hold you on his knee and tell you all about everything? How would you like him to show you all about, and let you see the wonderful sleigh and pet the reindeers? Well then, you can just imagine the fun Maida had.

“Do you know,” she said to him shyly, “I am really very glad I met you. You see, Willie Porter, he’s ten, and he knows much more than I do, or thinks he does,—well, he told me there wasn’t any Santa Claus. He hung up his stocking last Christmas, then he stayed awake all night to see if Santa Claus filled it. His papa and mama came into his room ever so many times in the night, but you never came near.”

“Ah! I can explain that,” laughed Santa. “Willie Porter’s papa used to have a fine big open chimney and a lovely fireplace. Then I used to go there every Christmas. But now they’ve shut up the fireplace, so I can’t get down the chimney, and they’ve put in steam heat. Does Willie Porter think I can bring my gifts and crawl through a radiator?” And Santa Claus laughed till he shook like a jelly.

“Ah, I see,” said Maida. “Well, as I have seen all the toys and had a most splendid time I s’pose I must be going, for I am in a hurry to get to the Wishing Post and grow up.” So she prepared to resume her journey but Santa Claus wouldn’t hear of it. “You haven’t seen all the toys,” he shouted. “The two best ones were just finished to-day. Come along with me and we’ll take a look at them.”

So she went with him into a room she hadn’t seen before, but all she could see was two boxes. One was very tall and stood on end, the other was square, with green and yellow stripes on it.

Out Popped Jack-in-the-Box

Maida began to peer about the square box with green and yellow stripes on it, when, all of a sudden, she touched a little button. The lid of the box flew open, and out popped the biggest Jack-in-the-Box she had ever seen. He must have been made of springs inside, for he leaned this way and that, and joggled up and down, till Maida thought he’d break in two. He was dressed in a long coat or shirt with pleats in it, just like the folding part of papa’s camera, and he looked very funny. “I feel just like a concertina,” he remarked.

Maida ran to the other box, opened it, and out stepped a Candy Kid. He was much taller than Maida, his arms and legs were made of stick candy, his body was a large chocolate drop, and his head was a marshmallow. Before Maida realized what she was doing she picked off one of his fingers and ate it. The Candy Kid didn’t mind, but Santa Claus didn’t like it at all. He told her not to do anything of the sort again, and got some candy to make the Candy Kid another finger.

“Oh, you beautiful little dolly,” sighed Jack-in-the-Box looking at Maida.

“She isn’t a dolly,” said the Candy Kid. “I believe Santa Claus made her out of a charlotte russe,” for of course the Candy Kid thought Santa Claus made everything out of some kind of sweetmeats.

But Jack-in-the-Box was too full of his thoughts to let the Candy Kid stop him. He bobbed his poor little head, shook about in the box and said: “Oh, I like you very much. I would kneel and tell you all about it, only I have no knees. I would clasp you in my arms, only I have no arms.”

“I like you too,” said Maida shyly, and she nestled up against him. “You are very quaint. Oh, how your poor heart is beating.”

“That isn’t my heart,” replied Jack-in-the-Box, “that’s my mainspring.” Suddenly a loud rattle came from somewhere near his chin. “There,” he sighed, “a cog slipped.”

The Candy Kid had been listening, and he didn’t seem to like Maida to notice Jack-in-the-Box so much, so he politely gave her his arm and walked away with her. Jack-in-the-Box lost his temper at this and threatened the Candy Kid with all sorts of dreadful things, when suddenly there was a rattle; a jerk; and Jack-in-the-Box leaned over limp and flat. “Oh, is he dead?” sobbed Maida. “No, only run down,” chuckled Santa Claus who then wound him up. “He always runs down,” said Santa, “just when he shouldn’t.”

“Oh, I like him so much,” laughed Maida, “but I should think you’d find it awfully hard work to make them.” “Not a bit,” answered Santa Claus, “I think of something to delight children, and presto—it is made.”

Jack-in-the-Box set up a howling, till they had to stop their ears. “Think me some arms and legs,” he roared; “think me some arms and legs.”

“I have,” answered Santa Claus; and sure enough, there they were, two funny little arms swinging stiffly about, and as he hopped out of the box Maida saw he had two stiff little legs. Jack-in-the-Box tried to walk but it was very hard for him.

“Don’t you see,” he inquired, “that I am very starchy. Think me some ball bearings in the joints.” So Santa Claus did, and then he was all right. Oh, they had a fine time, while Santa Claus left them all alone to go and pack an order of toys for some little children in Bombay. But just when the fun was at its height Maida heard a tremendous roar. She turned around to see what made such a noise, and her hair stood on end with fright, for there stood a great big white Polar Bear. The Candy Kid climbed into his box. Maida flew wildly about the room and finally shut herself in a cupboard, but poor Jack—just as he was about to make his escape, he ran down. The bear slowly drew near Jack-in-the-Box and Maida’s heart flew up in her mouth for she was afraid it would eat him. But it didn’t. It wound him up. Then Jack-in-the-Box said “thank you,” and the Bear bowed politely. The Candy Kid saw that the Bear wasn’t hungry, so he came out of his box and tickled the Bear behind the left ear, and the Bear liked it so well he began to hop about and dance. The Candy Kid began to dance, then Jack-in-the-Box began to dance, and they laughed and danced and jumped about till they reached the door, and danced out of it; and the last Maida saw of the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box and the friendly Bear, they were dancing away, together.

Chapter VIII

Well, it does make one feel bad to have playmates run away like that, and Maida was heartbroken. She could see the three capering over the ice and snow far, far away, having, oh such a good time, and the Bear seemed so friendly and polite she had lost all fear of him. Just then she heard a tinkling of bells and looked outside the window to see what caused it. There was a sledge drawn by some beautiful Eskimo dogs, moving along and going in the direction taken by the friends. She gave no thought to Santa Claus, or the Disconsolate Lover, or the Man with the Growly Voice, or even Billy, but rushed out of the door and leaped on the sledge which was slowly moving away. “Hurry,” she gasped, “hurry, or they’ll get away.”

To her joy she found the little Eskimo girl, Kokomo, was the only passenger, and Kankakee, her father, was driving the dogs. Kokomo turned and smiled at her, saying something that sounded very much like “muk-a-luk-a-chuk-a-grwokzbski.” (That last word is a terrible thing, isn’t it? It’s very hard to spell, and I haven’t an idea how it sounds;—it must be a very hard word, but Kokomo said it, so I have to put it in.)

Faster and faster they flew till they were going like the wind. Behind them were some more people, on sledges drawn by dogs, but Maida didn’t care who they were or where they were going. All she thought of was finding the Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid. “Suppose,” she moaned to Kokomo, “suppose he should get lost and should run down.” “Blik-a-tik-a-zik-a-rikow-bik ski,” said Kokomo sadly. (Isn’t it awful, the way those Eskimos talk? And I don’t see how they ever learn to spell.)

It seemed an age to Maida, and it must have been several hours before she saw her two friends. They were standing in the midst of a field of ice, and poor Jack-in-the-Box hung limp and dejected on a block of ice, while the Candy Kid seemed to be trying to help him. She could see nothing of the Bear. “Stop, stop!” she called to Kankakee; but either he did not hear or he was in too great a hurry, for he only snapped his long dog whip and howled “Mush!” to the dogs. When an Eskimo says “Mush” to his dogs, he means what you mean when you say, “Get up!” to pony. Well, Maida couldn’t bear to see her friends left alone, so she rolled off the sledge into a soft snow-bank, and it didn’t hurt her a bit. Then while she was picking herself up and digging the snow out of her eyes, all the sledges rushed by her without stopping. She ran quickly to the Candy Kid. “Oh, dear, dear,” she sobbed, “what is the matter with him?” “He’s run down,” replied the Candy Kid. “Well, why don’t you wind him up?” retorted Maida angrily, stamping her foot. “Can’t do it,” said the Candy Kid, “we’ve lost the key.” Then overcome by his feelings the Candy Kid sat down and began to cry at the top of his voice. Which was perfectly natural. A huge white mound, which Maida had mistaken for a snow-bank, reared up beside the Candy Kid, and Maida stepped back in surprise. It was the Bear. Maida was very uneasy. He hadn’t eaten the Candy Kid. Well, perhaps he didn’t care for sweets, and of course he couldn’t eat an overgrown alarm-clock like Jack-in-the-Box, but she had heard that bears like little girls as well as little girls like chocolate creams, and she felt a strong desire to run. But the Bear didn’t attack her. No indeed, he wasn’t that kind of a Bear. He laid his head on the shoulder of the Candy Kid and lifted up his voice and wept, which was very nice of him. Maida was so overcome by his grief she ran to him and wiped his eyes with her handkerchief. Then they all had a good cry together. At last the Bear put his arm about Maida (I call it his arm, though it was really his foreleg), and patted her on the shoulder. So she felt better, and stopped crying.

“By the way,” said Maida to the Candy Kid, “I’ve never been properly introduced to the Bear. Do you mind making us acquainted?”

So the Candy Kid presented the Bear, who made a lovely bow,—really, for a Polar Bear who had never been in any sort of society, he was very, very polite.

And then Maida found the key. Wasn’t that lovely? Ah, I tell you, it didn’t take her long to wind up Jack-in-the-Box, and how the four of them did laugh and cry and dance about, all through pure happiness.

“This habit of mine is very distressing,” observed Jack-in-the-Box to Maida. “Did you ever start to talk or go somewhere and all of a sudden feel your mainspring give out and your wheels stop turning?”

“No, I never did,” replied Maida, “but it must be—dreadful.”

“And now, what are we going to do?” said the Candy Kid.

“I’m afraid I’ll never find the Wishing Post,” sighed Maida.

Then the Bear began to talk. If you think Eskimo talk is hard to understand, you should have heard the Bear. It sounded like the roaring of thunder and the rattle of chains, but little by little they understood him, for he waved his paws, and pointed to the North, and wagged his head; so finally they understood he would take them to the Wishing Post. Maida climbed on his back, which pleased him mightily. The other two followed them, and they set out again, the merriest little party you ever saw, on their way to the Top of the World.

Chapter IX

“Isn’t it ever going to be night?” inquired Maida fretfully, as they paused for a rest on top of a huge hill of snow.

“You forget,” replied the Candy Kid, “that up here the days are six months long. Why, it’s only half-past June.” So they went on again.

“Oh, I’m so cold and tired,” sighed Maida, rubbing her hands on the Bear’s furry coat to warm them. Jack-in-the-Box looked at her in surprise. “Cold?” he asked curiously. “What is cold?” “Oh, you wouldn’t know,” replied Maida, and of course he wouldn’t for he was only a clock-work man. But her answer did not seem to satisfy him, for he scratched his head in a puzzled manner. “Tired, tired,” he repeated, “the word sounds familiar, but what does it mean?” Maida sighed again; it was so difficult to make Jack understand. “Why it means,” she explained, “you feel so weary; you can hardly lift your arms, and your legs ache, and you don’t want to move.” “Oh, I know now,” interrupted Jack in great glee. “I often get that way. You’re run down. Where’s your key?—I’ll wind you up.” And she could hardly convince him that there wasn’t a key and that she didn’t need winding up.

By and by they came to a log hut. Smoke was coming from the chimney, a bright light shone through the window, and a most delicious smell filled the air; so they decided to take a nice long rest. Jack-in-the-Box knocked at the door. It swung open and a huge Man with a Bushy Beard stepped across the threshold. He looked like a very rough man and Maida felt a little afraid of him, but he paid no attention to her; he only stood stock still and stared at Jack-in-the-Box. Then he saw the Candy Kid and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Maida saw he was afraid of Jack and the Candy Kid,—(for really they were unusual, you know, and enough to frighten a man, no matter how rough he was, and how bushy his beard)—so she decided to reassure him. “Fido,” she whispered,—(they all called the Bear “Fido” because he was so “cute”)—“Fido, you ask him to let us in.” So the Bear advanced bowing politely and in his own language spoke as nicely as he could. That is, he started to speak. For no sooner did the Man with the Bushy Beard see Fido than he jumped back into the hut. Still bowing politely Fido followed him.

Then for a little while there was a great commotion in the hut. “Oh, they’ll hurt Fido,” screamed Maida in dismay, but before she could go to his aid, the door swung open again and the Man with the Bushy Beard popped out, followed by some more Men with Bushy Beards, and they all ran away as fast as they could.

“There must be something in there that frightened them,” whispered Jack, cowering close to the Candy Kid. “I wonder what it could have been,” was the Candy Kid’s reply. But when they finally plucked up courage and stole into the hut, there was nothing at all inside to alarm anybody—and dear gentle Fido sat calmly beside the fire warming his feet. They looked all through the hut, in every nook and cranny, but whatever had frightened the Men with the Bushy Beards was gone.

After awhile the Bear curled up in a corner and went to sleep (and really for such a nice Bear he snored dreadfully), while Maida began to explore the hut to see if she could find something for supper. Strange to say she felt a longing for a bowl of wheat and cream such as they always made her eat at home for breakfast. Her search was interrupted by the sound of loud and angry voices, and when she ran to the other end of the hut she was surprised to find the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box having a most awful quarrel—and what was worse, it was a quarrel over some lady they both knew though she couldn’t tell who it was. Jack-in-the-Box was so angry all his machinery clicked and rattled, and all the sugar had been left out of the Candy Kid’s temper, for it was anything but sweet.

“You overgrown alarm clock,” he sneered at Jack, “I tell you she liked me best.”

“Oh, run down, run down,” snapped Jack angrily, “how could she prefer you? Why, you’re only a lump of glucose and some dye.” And they went on at a terrible rate saying all sorts of horrid things to each other, but Maida couldn’t find out who they were quarrelling about, and it made her feel just a teenty, weenty bit jealous to find there was some one besides herself they liked, and liked well enough to quarrel over. Finally the Candy Kid appealed to Maida for aid.

“Where you come from,” he asked, “when two people both like somebody else what are they?”

“Foolish,” was Maida’s prompt reply.

“No, no,” persisted the Candy Kid, “what do you call them?”

Maida puzzled a moment and let her mind run over some of the romantic stories she had read. “I know,” she said, “they are called rivals.”

“Then I’m a rival,” said the Candy Kid stoutly.

“So am I,” cried Jack. “Tell me—what do rivals do?”

Maida puzzled over this a moment. “Why, they take pistols or swords and fight a duel,” she said presently.

“Good,” replied the Candy Kid, “we’ll fight a duel, although I haven’t the faintest idea what a duel is, or how to fight it.” Then turning to Jack-in-the-Box he added, “have you a sword in your pocket?”

“Oh, no,” Jack answered quickly.

“Why are you so positive?” inquired the Candy Kid sulkily.

“Because,” Jack retorted, “I don’t know what a sword is, and I haven’t any pocket.”

“Pooh, that’s no reason,” complained the Candy Kid, and they were about to resume their quarrel when they were interrupted by Fido, who had been aroused by their noise and sat solemnly blinking his eyes. First he pointed to a picture on the wall. It was a picture of two men fighting with long swords, and Fido pointed to the picture and then to them, and then took the poker from the hearth and showed them just how a duel with swords must be fought. And I may say here it’s no use asking me how Fido knew all about duels—for I haven’t the faintest idea—all I can say is, he was a very clever Bear. They clearly understood by this time what they must do. But alas, they had no swords. At last Jack had a happy thought. He dashed out the door and returned with two long pointed icicles, nearly as hard as steel, and gave one to the Candy Kid. Maida was very much frightened and wanted to stop them, but they paid no heed to her tears. The Bear planted her in a chair by the fire and shook his paw at her, so she felt afraid to move. The Bear stood between Jack and the Candy Kid and said, “ovowoogkgk.” (That’s as near as I can come to spelling it as I haven’t quite enough letters to make it sound just right), and just as soon as he said it Jack-in-the-Box stuck his icicle right through the Candy Kid’s breast. Maida screamed with horror, but the Candy Kid laughed and said, “you tickle.” Then he ran his icicle into Jack’s breast, and Jack ran down. It took all three of them five minutes to get him properly wound again. Once more the rivals faced each other and the Bear gave the signal. But they both took bad aim, for instead of piercing each other, both of them stuck the Bear. That was the end of the duel. Fido was so vexed he broke both icicles. Then he took Jack and the Candy Kid over his knee and gave them a good spanking. After that it took them an hour to plug up the cavity in the Candy Kid’s chest with sugar, and to get the rust out of Jack’s cogs where the icicles had melted. And although poor Maida was very tired and sleepy she didn’t feel like going to bed, but sat by the fire revolving a question in her mind.

A Duel with Icicles

“I wonder,” she said to herself, “who it is they like enough to fight a duel over.”

Chapter X

On the edge of the Frozen Zone stands the City of Arcturia. You needn’t look for it in your geography, you won’t find it there; in fact, one of the men who wrote the “Geography” positively declared there isn’t any such place. So it isn’t on the map. But as Maida spent several days there she ought to know more about it than some old bookworm who stayed at home and scribbled while she was on her travels.

Did you ever go to bed at night when it was raining and raining and raining, then awaken in the morning to find the rain had frozen on the grass, and on the twigs—till all the trees looked as if they had been dipped in melted silver and then set out to dry? Well, that’s the way Arcturia looks. Without doubt it is one of the most wonderful and beautiful cities in the world—all ice—nothing but ice.

Maida rode on Fido’s back across the snow desert with the Candy Kid on one side and Jack-in-the-Box on the other, for they were rivals you know and quarrelled dreadfully whenever they got near each other. As they drew near the city their eyes were dazzled by the brightness—even Fido blinked, but they pressed on till they came to a sort of wall which brought them to a halt. It was a most peculiar wall—it was so high the Bear could not see over it, even though he reared up on his hind legs, when he was very tall indeed. It ran East as far as they could see and just as far to the West, and it was hard and smooth, like polished iron. The four sat down in a row and stared first at each other and then at the wall.

“What do you suppose it is?” asked Maida, “and how are we going to get over it?”

Suddenly the Candy Kid remembered. “I know, I know,” he laughed, “I remember now. I’ve heard Santa Claus talk about this. It’s the Arctic Circle.”

“That’s right,” chuckled Jack-in-the-Box, and the Bear nodded his head wisely.

“The Arctic Circle?” said Maida, “then we won’t have a bit of trouble. We’ll just go right on; for the Arctic Circle is only an imaginary line.”

“Do you mean to tell me I don’t see it?” asked Jack.

“You think you see it,” Maida replied severely, “but if you just ignore it, why, it can’t keep us back a minute.”

“I’m going to find out,” said the Candy Kid, and he walked deliberately into the wall and disappeared. The others quickly followed him, and in a moment they found themselves on the other side, with the city before them, and the wall stretching out to the East and West, behind them.

The Walrus Mends the Street

The first thing they came upon was a Walrus, who was smoking a pipe and repairing a hole in the street. You’ve seen the men set in the granite blocks, or put down that black sticky stuff that is so nice to roller skate on when it is all flattened out and hardened? Well, the Walrus didn’t use blocks of stone or black sticky stuff on the street, he simply set in a nice fresh block of ice and packed some snow in the little cracks. The street was all ice blocks.

“He walked deliberately into the wall”

Somehow Maida didn’t feel at all afraid of the Walrus. He looked very kind, so she timidly went to him and spoke. “Please, sir——” Then she shrank back a little, as the Walrus looked up in surprise. “I don’t mean please, sir, for of course you’re not a sir, you’re only an it—but please—can you tell us where we can go to get something to eat?”

“On the corner of the next street,” the Walrus replied, “you will find a street car which passes the hotel.”

“But we haven’t any carfare,” said Maida, turning to the others, “have we?” And the others shook their heads dolefully.

“Oh, I’ll lend you carfare,” replied the Walrus, and he reached in his pocket, drew out a large fish, and handed it to Maida. “Good-bye,” he said, and began to work on another bad place in the road.

When they got to the corner they looked about for a street car, but there wasn’t one in sight. Just then a large sledge drawn by four reindeers dashed up. Somebody rang a bell. The sledge stopped, and a pretty Eskimo girl got off and pattered away.

“This must be the car,” said Maida, and she was sure of it when she saw the driver was a huge Penguin, and the conductor was a Seal wearing a nice uniform. They climbed aboard, but the Seal wouldn’t let Fido go in the sledge and sit down.

“Company rule,” he said gruffly, “Polar Bears must be left on the platform,” so Fido curled up on the back of the car. Maida handed the Seal Conductor the fish which the Walrus had loaned her. “Four?” he asked, and Maida nodded; so he rang the bell four times, and gave her the change, which was half a dozen sardines.

Maida will never forget that street car ride, the first day in Arcturia. They passed through the market-place and saw ever so many seals trading their cast-off coats for sugar plums, and gobbling them up in a hurry as if they feared they would lose them.

They passed great high buildings, made out of blocks of ice, and saw little Eskimo boys selling newspapers printed on sheets of ice. Maida bought one, and after she had read it she ate it; and it was very good. At last they came to the hotel. They all got out and went in the office, and who do you think they found? Santa Claus and Billy and the Man with the Growly Voice. The big Eskimo, Kankakee, and his pretty daughter, Kokomo, while over in a corner stood the Disconsolate Lover staring out of the window as if he hoped to see the White Lady he was seeking.

Chapter XI

It took them an hour to tell each other where they had been and what they did there, and where they were going and what they expected to do, and you may well believe Maida was glad to see all of them again. Especially Billy, for Billy was the very nicest boy. Maida was not very fond of the boys at home. They were always throwing snowballs, or fighting, or pulling the cat’s tail, or tying tin cans to the poor dogs. Billy wasn’t a bit like that. The Man with the Growly Voice had been delayed because he didn’t know the Arctic Circle was an imaginary line so he had to get a ladder and climb over it, but he had managed to preserve his can of climate through all his travels and Maida was delighted to learn she would have his company the rest of the journey. As for Santa Claus, he was anxious to reclaim Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid, but they flatly refused to go home until they had finished the trip with Maida; so Santa decided to take Billy and go too, which was very nice of him.

“Do you know,” said Jack-in-the-Box, as they all sat about the hotel office planning the journey, “there is something wrong with my knee.”

“Rheumatism,” said Maida wisely.

“Nonsense,” replied Jack, “how can one have rheumatism in a ball-bearing? It’s a hot box.”

“What is a hot box?” inquired the Candy Kid, “I never had one.” “Of course not,” Jack answered, “if you had one you’d melt.”

“I know what a hot box is,” said Maida. “I was on a train once and it stopped so we all got out to see what was the matter, and we found one of the axles had got dry and set fire to things, and it was smoking dreadfully.”

“You’d better go to a doctor,” said Billy solicitously.

“Doctor,” snapped Jack, “what good could he do?” “You’d better send for a plumber,” advised the Candy Kid.

“No, a plumber won’t do,” said Jack reflectively, “he would only say, ‘I’ll be around to-morrow with a piece of wire,’ and then put in a bill for more than I’m worth. I am not sure when I’m to be repaired, whether I go to the jeweler, or the blacksmith.”

Santa Claus put an end to the discussion, by thinking a new knee for Jack, and as soon as he thought it, why there it was and Jack was as spry as ever.

Maida wandered about the hotel marvelling at the wonder and beauty of it. All the bell-boys were Albatrosses and they dusted the chairs with their wings, and carried satchels in their bills. The elevator boy was a dear little White Fox, and he invited Maida to take a ride with him. So she did, and got off at the thirty-ninth story.

“I would take you higher,” barked the Fox, “but the sun is very hot to-day, and the fortieth-story has just melted.”

So she stepped out of the elevator and walked about till she came to a lovely big room, with frost letters on the door, which read, “Ladies’ Reception Room.” It was the most gorgeous room she had ever seen. The pillars were made of solid green ice, the roof was all icicles and stalactites, and the walls were covered with lovely frost pictures, just the kind you see on the window on a cold day—and they changed every now and then. While Maida was admiring the room she became aware that someone was standing at a window gazing out over the city, and looking closer she found it was the most beautiful lady she had ever seen. Her face and hands were snow white, her long robe was white and frosty. She wore a star on her forehead and her face was very sad. For some reason Maida felt very sorry for this lady, so she went to her and touched her on the arms. Did you ever put your hand on an awfully, awfully cold piece of ice on a winter’s day? Remember how it was so cold it almost burned? Well, that’s the way Maida felt when she touched the lady.

“My! but you’re cold!” said Maida, “I think you’ve got a chill.”

The lady smiled sadly, and looked at her, so Maida smiled back, but she kept at a little distance.

“Who are you?” asked Maida, “and why do you smile so sadly? And why are you so cold?”

“I am Stalacta, an ice maiden, one of the Vestals of the Queen Aurora Borealis.” She sighed, and everything the lady said sounded exactly like the most beautiful poetry. “And with my companions I had sworn never to leave the Queen, but to serve her always. But one night I had a dream—ah, a most glorious vision. I seemed to float away on the bosom of a cloud, to a far land where all was light and warm and beautiful—and there I saw one whom I can never forget—nay, I would not forget him if I could. He was tall and straight and strong, his face was kind and his eyes were true; and as he looked at me my heart seemed to burst its icy bands, and I knew that I could never serve the Queen again, but could only be happy—with him. I beckoned, he drew near. I held out my arms, and then—I awoke. Night after night I dream of him—night after night I see him holding out his arms; he is drawing nearer, always nearer, and I will never rest till he finds me.”

“Ah, ah, ah, come with me quick!” cried Maida. So she put on her mittens and took the Ice Lady by the hand, rushed her down the elevator, and hurried her across the hotel office to where the Disconsolate Lover was still standing, looking out the window.

“Here he is,” she cried to the Ice Lady; then to the Disconsolate Lover, “Here is your dream—the White Lady.”

The Disconsolate Lover turned, and he and the White Lady stared a moment at each other. Then what did he do, right before everybody in the hotel office, but take the White Lady in his arms. But not for long; you see he didn’t realize how awfully cold the White Lady was, while she didn’t realize how very warm he was, being from the South. So if he hadn’t let her go—she’d have melted. And the two poor creatures who thought so much of each other were kept apart. The Disconsolate Lover couldn’t kiss the White Lady’s hand.

“Oh, what shall we do?” sighed the White Lady. “I think so much of you—I do indeed; but you are fatal to me. If you come any nearer I’m sure I shall melt.”

“You freeze me through and through,” he answered; “but I don’t care for that—for you really are the most beautiful lady in the world.”

Then Maida had an inspiration, and she jumped up and down, clapping her hands with joy, for she had found a way to get them out of their troubles. “Come with us to the Wishing Post,” she cried, “and you can wish, each to be like the other.”

Everybody clapped their hands at this, and said it was a fine idea, so the Disconsolate Lover and the White Lady agreed to go along with them.

Chapter XII

“Now who’s going to show us the way across the Forbidden Land to the City of Illusia where the North Pole is?” asked Maida.

“Fido, of course,” the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box replied together; so the three hurried off to find Fido. They discovered him drinking pink lemonade through a straw, lazily keeping cool with a palm leaf fan, and quickly explained what they wanted him to do. Greatly to their regret, as well as to his own, Fido could be of no assistance, as he had never been any further North than Arcturia. He was willing to go along with them, but he couldn’t lead the way. And although Maida and the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box, as well as Billy and Santa, and the Man with the Growly Voice, looked about everywhere, they couldn’t find anyone to guide them to the City of Illusia. So they put an advertisement in the evening paper and waited. Very soon the big Chief Kankakee followed by pretty little Kokomo and a number of Eskimos filed into the office of the hotel. The Eskimos all sat down in a circle while Kankakee stood in the centre and made a fine speech. As nearly as we (Maida and I) can remember, the speech ran something like this:

“I am Kankakee, chief of this tribe and a person of great dignity and importance. These, my vassals, will serve me to the death and go wheresoever I bid them. Have I not spoken truly, Oshkosh?” (Whereupon Oshkosh rose and made a low bow.)

“And of all the men in Arcturia I alone know the secret way across the Forbidden Land, and I alone can guide you to the City of Illusia. Answer, Keokuk, have I not said the truth?”

Keokuk rose. “You have indeed,” he answered humbly.

“Now, seeing that I am a person of such importance, it is well that my service should receive a great reward. Therefore I will guide you across the Forbidden Land to the City of Illusia but you must pay the price I ask.”

Then Po-Dunk and Cai-Ro and Chi-Ca-Go and all the other Eskimos solemnly nodded their heads and echoed “pay the price.”

“What price do you ask?” inquired the Man with the Growly Voice.

“I ask neither candles nor spear-heads,” replied Kankakee, “nor fish-hooks, nor blubber.”

“I’m glad of that,” said the Man with the Growly Voice, “for I’m all out of blubber, and my last spear-head is gone.” All the same he felt very uneasy, for an Eskimo prizes spear-heads and fish-hooks very highly, and dearly loves blubber; while candles are just the same as lemon drops in Eskimo land. So he knew Kankakee meant to ask for something very, very precious.

“Well, I must go to the North Pole,” he continued, “and if I can, I will pay your price, so name it.”

Kankakee proudly tossed his head and went on with his speech.

“My daughter Kokomo is the child of a chief and it is fitting that she should know all things. She should be taught by a great wizard like you.” (You see Kankakee thought the Man with the Growly Voice was a wizard because he had bottled up the Tropical Climate.) “Take my daughter, therefore, into your tribe and teach her your magic, and I will guide you—refuse, and you will never find the way.”

Then Kalam-Azoo and Wis-Consin and Neva-Da all nodded their heads and repeated, “Never find the way.”

Well, of course, Maida was delighted, for she knew Kokomo liked her, and wanted her for a playmate; but the Man with the Growly Voice was dumbfounded, for he had never paid any attention to Kokomo or noticed her; in fact, he did not know she was Kankakee’s daughter. So he turned to Kankakee and said, “How old is your daughter?”

“She has seen fourteen days, and fourteen nights,” replied Kankakee with dignity.

“Fourteen days and fourteen nights,” echoed the Man with the Growly Voice, in amazement. “My goodness—you don’t want a teacher for her, you want a nurse. I don’t mind adopting a little girl or so, but I certainly object to search for the North Pole wheeling a baby in a perambulator.”

Maida laughed and pushed Kokomo out from behind her father. “Here’s the baby,” she laughed. “Don’t you remember up here the days and nights are six months long?”

So Kankakee agreed to risk his life and guide them all across the Forbidden Land, while the Man with the Growly Voice agreed to teach Kokomo all his magic and to make friends with her. He searched through his pockets, found an apple, and gave it to her.

She examined it carefully. “How shall I wear it?” she inquired.

Maida laughed and explained—“It isn’t to wear, it’s to eat.” So Kokomo took a bite and liked it. Then Kankakee took a bite and liked it, and the apple didn’t last very long.

“I never saw anything like that before,” observed Kokomo (meaning the apple). “How did it come to be?”

“It grew on a tree,” said Maida.

“What’s a tree?” asked Kokomo.

“Why a tree is—a—a tree——” (Now do you know it is rather difficult to explain just what a tree is to a person who has never seen one?) “Why a tree is a great big post of wood that grows right out of the ground and there are leaves on it, and in the Summer apples hang from the branches.”

Kokomo looked at Maida in a very disappointed way, then went to the Man with the Growly Voice. “Did you hear what that little maid told me?” she asked him and pointed to Maida.

“Oh, yes, and it’s quite true,” he replied, laughing.

Kokomo bowed humbly. “I am your handmaid—you are my Lord,” she said. “If you say the story is true and these things are, then it is true, and they are—I will believe you, if you bid me—but why not confess the truth, that you made the apple.”

By this time all of the natives of Arcturia who could crowd in the hotel office were gathered about listening with all their ears. The Man with the Growly Voice thought to dazzle them with stories of his own country.

“In my country,” he began, “there are so many trees we cannot count them. In the Summer they are all green. The grass is green too—it grows like a carpet underfoot. Lovely clear rivers flow past the cities and when the weather is warm there is no ice and snow and the young men play and swim in the water, like the seals.” At this, a hoarse murmur burst from the crowd—and an old medicine man pushed his way forward.

“You say your land is all green,” he shouted,—“all green.” Without waiting for a reply, he continued—turning to his comrades. “Oh, a horrible land. The green sun rises in the green East. The green seal peers through a green hole in the ice. Men and women, bears and birds, all green—oh, a horrible land”; and wildly shaking his head, he hobbled away. Another took his place and shook his finger wildly in his anger.

“It is not green in that land,” he shouted. “See this man is not green. But his tongue is crooked. He tells us of posts of wood that grow out of the ground. How can such things be? All men know that wood floats in from the sea, when the ice is gone, and that it comes in no other way. How then can it grow out of the ground? He speaks of grass that grows like a carpet beneath the feet. How can this be? Is not the snow and ice too thick for anything to force its way through? We have never seen anything like that. There is nothing of that sort here, and everyone knows this is the finest and most wonderful country in the world. Then the horrible tale he tells about men who swim in the water like seals. We know that to be false. It is well known that when water covers a man, he dies. I am an old man but water has never touched my skin.”

Then all the Eskimos began to talk at once—and—well, you never heard anything like it. Maida and the Man with the Growly Voice tried to explain, but the Eskimos simply couldn’t understand. Some took the strangers for evil magicians and the others thought they were telling whoppers. So the first thing they knew they were driven in disgrace from the city.

Chapter XIII

The unexpected enmity of the natives of Arcturia was very distressing to Maida, while her little friend Kokomo was filled with fear at the prospect before her. She clung to the Man with the Growly Voice, and moaned: “When we go to your dreadful land where all is green, you will not let me turn green too,—will you? Nor will you let aught befall me. Ah, I know you will not I fear me lest the awful grass pursue me as we stroll on the green rivers—I tremble much lest some savage trees catch and kill me.”

“Have no fear, little snowbird,” replied the Man with the Growly Voice cheerfully, in a most reassuring manner; “you will be perfectly safe. All the grass is tame, and with the exercise of a little agility you can easily escape the attack of the most ferocious tree.” Whereupon Kokomo was much comforted.

“How Do You Do?” in Eskimo

Maida felt so sorry for Kokomo that she ran over to her, flung her arms about her neck, and kissed her. Now, of course, Maida meant well; she only wanted to make Kokomo happy; but it was the first kiss that had ever happened in Arcturia. When the Eskimos wish to show great joy, and welcome or salute someone, they stand on the right foot, rub their nose with the left hand, and wiggle the left ear. So when Kankakee saw Maida kiss his daughter he gave a howl of anger, and in a moment there were half a dozen keen spears pointing at her bosom. And, of course, she screamed.

“She was trying to steal my daughter’s breath,” shouted Kankakee, as Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid tried to restrain him. “Tell me, oh, my daughter, are you hurt?”