Transcriber’s notes
The width of this document has been set to a maximum, to keep the illustrations in place. An effort has been made to keep the pictures as crooked as they were in the original.
A few punctuation errors have been corrected, and on page 142 “is” was changed to “as” (make it as hard as you can). Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistent hyphenation.
THE BROWNIES
AND PRINCE FLORIMEL
OR
Brownieland, Fairyland, and Demonland
BY
PALMER COX
Author of The Brownies: Their Book; Another Brownie Book;
The Brownies Around the World; The Brownies at Home;
The Brownies Through the Union; The Brownies
Abroad; The Brownies in the Philippines;
The Brownies’ Latest Adventures; The
Brownies’ Many More Nights; The
Brownie Clown in Brownie
Town; The Brownie Primer,
etc., etc., etc.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
Copyright, 1918, by
The Century Co.
Published, September, 1918
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
| PAGE | |||
 | The Flight of Prince Florimel | [3] | |
 | |||
| Titania Comes to Reign Over the Fairies | [14] | ||
 | Florimel Reaches the Enchanted Country | [25] | |
 | |||
| The Human Octopus Starts on a Mission | [37] | ||
 | Florimel Meets the Brownies | [49] | |
 | |||
| The Human Octopus Snoops Around | [58] | ||
 | Florimel Is Adopted by King Stanislaus | [68] | |
 | |||
| Queen Titania’s Great Peril | [80] | ||
 | The Compact with Vulcan | [92] | |
 | |||
| The Strange Wedding-Guests | [103] | ||
 | The Brownies Build a Raft | [119] | |
 | |||
| What Happened in the Throne-Room | [133] | ||
 | Neptune Stills the Waves | [145] | |
 | |||
| What the Policeman Discovered | [157] | ||
 | The German Band | [166] | |
 | |||
| The Earthquake and Volcano | [177] | ||
 | |||
| The Brownies Fight the Flames | [189] | ||
 | |||
| The Flight to the Mines | [201] | ||
 | |||
| The Mission of the Dove | [212] | ||
 | |||
| Disaster to Dragonfel | [223] | ||
 | |||
| And They Lived Happily Ever After | [233] | ||
THE BROWNIES AND PRINCE
FLORIMEL
CHAPTER I
THE FLIGHT OF PRINCE FLORIMEL
All that is here set down happened in a wonderful country where wonderful things are always happening.
In a certain kingdom there was a young prince named Florimel.
His father, the king, had lately passed away, but, though Florimel was his only son, and of age, he had not succeeded to the throne that by right of birth was his.
The reason was that his father had a brother, a very cruel, crafty duke, high in the councils of the state, who had designs upon the throne himself. In a covetous frame of mind he had once taken a photograph of the crown and ermine robe, and the intelligent palace parrot had made a remark thereat:
“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’” croaked the bird.
It was a wise quotation, and yet it was not wise to make it, for right after that something happened to the unlucky parrot.
The duke with his evil influence swayed the opinions of the royal cabinet which made the laws. In his wicked old heart he wished Florimel out of the way.
If Florimel had been like other princes one reads about his people no doubt would have insisted upon his occupying the throne. But the throne was of ordinary size, so that he never could have occupied it. Like other princes he was all that was fair and handsome, but he was very small indeed. He was no larger than the average-sized boy of twelve, and the people who should have proved his loyal subjects were well-grown men and women. In their talks among themselves they showed a shame that anyone so small should rule them.
“Why, he’s no bigger than a Brownie!” was a remark they very often made. “It would look foolish to have such a mite for a king.” For they were well informed about the Brownies, and knew how they perched on fences, or hid adroitly whenever danger threatened.
But they were guided by appearances, as too often people wrongly are, and they failed to realize that sometimes the best goods are done up in the smallest packages, and that even a mite may be mighty.
The fact that Florimel was so small had been a great grief to his late parents who had never been able to understand it. He had been a fine, healthy baby who had won the hearty approval of his doctors and nurses.
His mother always had an uneasy fear that the godmother who assisted at his christening might have been concerned in his diminutive size, but the king invariably poo-poohed at her suspicions. This godmother was an ex-fairy, but advancing age had interfered with her work of magic. Her joints had become stiff and cramped, and she had contracted rheumatism from sleeping in damp, dewy flowers. She did not get around in the lively fashion she used to.
“Nonsense!” said the king. “Would she have bestowed on him the gift of second sight and at the same time taken away his size? Depend upon it, my dear, her intentions were perfectly straightforward and honorable.”
“But it may have been this second sight has interfered with his growth,” said the queen. “His vision is simply wonderful.”
This was indeed so. Prince Florimel could see things no one else could. Furthermore he could see them at night. Some wise old soothsayer declared that he was gifted with supernatural powers.
One other gift had his ex-fairy godmother presented to him, a bow and quiver of arrows which she averred were priceless.
“I charge you,” she said most impressively to the king, “never to let your dear son have the bow and arrows unless there comes to him some moment of great danger. Then let him place one of these arrows to the bow, and shoot it where he will. The result will be miraculous.”
After she had gone back to the old-ex-fairy-ladies’ home the king was strongly tempted to shoot one of the arrows from the bow just to see what would happen. With great difficulty he repressed his curiosity, and placed the bow and arrows in the family safe whose combinations was known only to himself.
So time passed happily, and one year added its joys to those of others, until there came the sad day when Florimel lost his dear mother. There was much sorrow throughout the entire kingdom, for the queen was a gentle, gracious one whose kind words and good deeds had endeared her to the hearts of all. So great was her loss to the king that he did not survive her long. Ere he joined her he called his brother, the duke, to his bed, and said to him:
“You are my only kin outside of Florimel, so to your keeping I entrust him. He is such a little chap you must be very careful of him. After I am gone he will be king, and I am sure he will rule well and wisely. He is a true king at heart if not of stature. Promise me to be his councilor and guide, and to incline him ever to the side of mercy, charity, and goodness.”
The false duke promised with great earnestness, but all the while he was thinking of many wicked things.
With Florimel removed he would ascend to the throne himself. Yet so well did he hide his guilty feelings that his brother had no suspicion of any perfidy or wrong-doing, and passed away in the peace befitting the righteous king he was.
After the king’s death the duke through one pretext or another delayed the coronation of the new. He incited his nephew to feats and deeds of great danger and daring with the evil hope that some terrible accident would befall him. But in all the risks and hazards that he took, and none was too great, it almost seemed that Prince Florimel bore a charmed life.
Like other young people he had his dreams, and saw much that was unreal, but with all these there had come lasting impressions.
When the duke failed to accomplish his evil designs, he determined upon even more desperate methods in his game.
The people were beginning to chafe at the delay in the coronation, and were clamoring for a new ruler. So the cabinet met to decide this most important matter, and the duke presided over the council.
“This is a most embarrassing situation,” he said. “Ordinarily we would place the only son of our late king on the throne without question and amid great rejoicing. But we are confronted by a most perplexing question. Prince Florimel is what might be termed a freak. The point is, could he represent his kingdom with the proper dignity?”
“Prince Florimel may be a freak as you say,” remarked a member of the cabinet, “but at the same time I have never seen a handsomer, manlier young fellow. His symmetry is perfect, and he is all that is chivalrous and brave. He is the stuff true kings are made of. The only thing against him is his size.”
“That I fear is an objection which cannot be overcome,” said the wily duke. “Can we, a race of big men and women, be governed by a pygmy king—a hop-o’-my-thumb? We would be the laughing stock of other kingdoms. Think, when the rulers of all these met, and ours came among them, of the mortification we would feel that we did not have a full-grown man to represent us. His insignificance would make this country insignificant to others. Those who did not know us, and judged us by him, would look upon us as a country of dwarfs.”
“But Florimel is the late king’s son, and heir to the throne,” said another member of the cabinet. “Who else could reign in his stead?”
“I am the next of kin,” said the duke.
“Yes, if it were not for Florimel you would be the logical king.”
“Let us postpone our deliberations until tomorrow, by which time I think I can find a way out of the difficulty,” said the duke, with deadly meaning.
The members of the cabinet looked at each other, and the meeting silently adjourned. It had been conducted with the utmost secrecy, and no one else was present but an old factotum named Gando who was there to lock the doors. And Gando, who was passionately attached to Florimel, heard the duke’s word, and was very uneasy in his mind.
“So that is why,” the old man said to himself, “the duke was sharpening his knife on the grind-stone!”
When the duke had retired to his apartment Gando tiptoed noiselessly after him, and placed his feeble, dim eye close to the key-hole of the door.
What he saw froze the blood in his veins, and caused the few white hairs on his head to stand stiffly up with his great fright.
The duke was seated at his window, and the moonlight played and glittered on a long, slender knife that he held in his hand.
Old Gando’s knees knocked together, and he fled the spot. Of one thing he was very sure. Florimel without loss of time should place himself far beyond the reach of his wicked uncle. Each added moment increased the prince’s danger. Soon escape might be too late. Before he went to warn the sleeping prince he secured the bow and quiver of arrows that had been intrusted to his care by the late king. He hastily provided himself with a smock, loose cap, and long trousers of coarse cloth such as children of poor peasants wear.
With these in his trembling arms, breathless from his exertions and the great excitement under which he labored, he entered Florimel’s bedchamber, and closed the door noiselessly behind him. With his fair head resting on his curved arm, Florimel slept. Gando gave a great sigh of relief when he heard his gentle breathing. He flew to the bedside, and straightway roused the slumbering prince from his dreams.
“Oh, master, my dear young master!” he cried with his voice broken by sobs. “Rouse yourself, I beg of you, and go hence! Do not delay, or you may be too late. Your cruel uncle this very moment is plotting your death!”
Florimel sprang up in bed, and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“But where shall I go, good Gando?” he asked.
“That I know not,” said the old man. “The further you go the better. You must leave behind you the boundaries of the kingdom. See, I have brought these peasant’s clothes for you to wear.”
“Nay, I still have my prince’s attire,” said Florimel.
“That will not serve,” said Gando. “If you donned it you would be quickly recognized, and your uncle would gain knowledge of you to your swift undoing.”
He assisted the bewildered Florimel to dress, swung across his back the quiver of arrows, and handed him the bow.
“This was your godmother’s gift,” he said, “and it might aid you.”
But, though Gando urged Florimel not to take the time, the latter printed something on a card which he tacked upon the outside of the door before they left the place.
As they fled toward a secret exit they heard down the corridor the stealthy tread of feet.
The duke snarled like a wild beast as he read the lines:
“FAREWELL, DEAR UNCLE! KEEP YOUR EDGED TOOL FOR FATTED SWINE!”
“Fly!” old Gando cried, as he thrust Florimel out into the lonely, starlit night. “Oh, my dear young master, fly for your life!”
It was a sad and sudden change indeed for the youth, from the pleasant dreams of guardian Brownies surrounding his bed, to the uncertainty of an unknown way before, and the certainty of a cruel enemy behind. Snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance had a forbidding look and, as though in league with his old uncle, seemed to extend to him but a cool welcome. The wakeful and observing beasts of the wood and wild saw in him a new character never before met in the open country, and were shaken with wonder and agitation while they watched the hastening little traveller striding along the lonely road, his only burden the bow and supply of arrows.
CHAPTER II
TITANIA COMES TO REIGN
OVER THE FAIRIES
Now in another part of the same country there was a race of fairies who never grew old and always remained beautiful.
Their loveliness of face and form was beyond all description.
Just try to think of the prettiest young girl you ever saw. Well, even the plainest of these fairies were ever so much prettier. That is to say, all were very beautiful with one exception. In her case the fairy charm was an utter failure.
She was little and old, with a queer, wrinkled face like a dried-up crab-apple. But, because no one else looked like her, she was firmly convinced she was the most beautiful of them all. They wore clinging gowns made of the texture of roses, lilies, and other flowers. She who wore fragrant rose-petals called herself Rose, she who called herself Lily one of lilies, and so on. There were Violet, Daffodil, Bluebell, Daisy, Jassamine, Hyacinth, and ever so many others. You could find the names of all the rest in a seed-catalogue—that is, all but the little old wrinkled one who was known as Dame Drusilda. The fairies had a republic. Because they were all so very much alike, and equally beautiful, gifted, and clever, it would have been an extremely awkward matter to select a queen from among them. If any one had been chosen, all the others would have felt greatly slighted. Dame Drusilda believed she should be the queen, simply because no one else looked like her, but she was quite alone in her opinion.
They were very up-to-date, and they had a palace of great magnificence that had every modern convenience, with sanitary plumbing. There was a very gorgeous throne-room, wisely arranged in the event that they might some day have a queen, with a portcullis at the entrance that could be raised or lowered at will. This, of course, was to keep out unwelcome visitors.
The republic was most beautifully situated where a river joined the sea, and upon a cliff one day the fairies beheld a most unusual sight. While they were smiling and nodding a greeting to some lovely mermaids who were down among the rocks combing their long tresses with the aid of hand-mirrors, a golden shallop heaped with flowers came drifting down the placid stream. The fairies signalled to the mermaids who, when their attention was attracted to the shallop, swam to it, and guided it to the shore. As it drew near all grew very much excited when they observed a most exquisite little creature nestling asleep in the fragrant bed of flowers. When the shallop grounded gently on the pebbly beach her eyes opened, and she gazed up at them with the most enchanting smile imaginable. “I am Queen Titania,” she announced, as they bent over her, “and I have come to reign over you!”
With tender hands they raised her from her couch, and knelt before her in silent adoration.
Never before had they seen anyone so beautiful, as she stood before them in her long trailing gown, with a gem-crusted crown upon her brow, and in her hand a slender wand from whose tip shone the scintillating rays of a diamond.
“Your Majesty,” said queer little Dame Drusilda, “we are all your loyal subjects. Let us conduct you to the palace, where affairs of state await you.”
Amid great rejoicing they conducted Queen Titania to the palace. Wee-winged Cupids bore her long train. The portcullis was raised, and in triumph they entered.
The new queen was conducted with much pomp to the throne-room. When she was placed upon the throne, two dogs, two frogs, and an ostrich were brought before her.
“What have they done?” asked Queen Titania.
“Your Majesty,” said the fairy named Hyacinth, “these two dogs were fighting, and one bit off a piece of the other’s ear.”
“Which was the one who did it?”
“Why, this one!”
“Bind him over to keep the peace!” said Queen Titania promptly.
The fairies all nodded their approval as the dogs were led away.
“Your Majesty,” then spoke up one of the frogs, “will you be kind enough to listen to the complaint of one who has always tried to conduct himself like a perfect gentleman? I am a confirmed bachelor-frog. This young lady-frog is continually pestering me with her attentions. She keeps on proposing marriage, although it is not leap-year.”
“With frogs every year is leap-year,” said Queen Titania.
The ostrich looked very guilty as a fairy named Eglantine explained:
“Your Majesty, he deliberately swallowed a half-dozen of the palace spoons.”
“Why did you do it?” asked Queen Titania of the culprit.
“I don’t know,” he said shamefacedly.
“But I do,” said Queen Titania. “You did it to stir up things. Have you a sweetheart?”
“Yes, I’ve got a bird!”
“Well, now you can go and spoon with her!”
All were quite delighted with the wisdom shown by their tiny sovereign in dispensing justice. But before other important matters could be disposed of a fairy messenger named Pink with her petalled attire all flecked with dust dashed in great excitement into the throne-room. She had ridden many leagues upon a winged steed, and in its terrific speed which was far greater than that of the swiftest aeroplane it had used both wings and feet.
Pink ran toward the throne to impart the news that had brought her in such hot haste, but the unexpected sight of Queen Titania stilled the words upon her frightened lips, and caused them to part instead with wonder and surprise.
“This is Queen Titania,” hastily explained Dame Drusilda, “who henceforth is to reign over us.”
Pink knelt low before Titania and kissed her royal robe.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “I am the bearer of bad news. Dragonfel the wicked enchanter across the sea has declared his intention of making trouble for the fairies.”
“Who told you this?” asked Queen Titania.
“A little bird,” was Pink’s reply.
“This is very serious,” said Queen Titania gravely, “for little birds never tell fibs.” There was a clamor of dismayed, excited voices, but the queen raised her wand for silence, and continued:
“Though it may only be an idle threat, I will still appeal to Euphrosyne. Should we ever need her help right gladly she will give it.” Her hearers all looked puzzled, and Dame Drusilda made bold to ask: “Who is Euphrosyne of whom you speak?” “Have you not heard of her?” Queen Titania asked, with much surprise. “She is the Goddess of Mirth, who tries to make the whole world happy—a most gigantic task. Come with me, and I will send her an invisible summons.” With the Cupids bearing her train she passed with the fairies out to the palace courtyard where fountains played and flowers bloomed. There she raised her wand, and told them to look up. And doing so they beheld a most marvelous sight—a radiant, smiling-faced, gloriously beautiful young woman in classical white robes, with her sandalled feet resting ever so lightly upon one of the pearl-tinged clouds.
Around her circled snowy doves, cooing, fluttering, and settling on her head, bare shoulders and arms.
While Titania waved her wand, she suddenly gazed downward, as though something by means of an electric current had been transmitted to her through the air. She stroked a dove that had found its way trustingly to her hand, and as the others flew from her she herself seemed plumed for flight.
The fairies watched her with a suspense that was almost painful, but to their great disappointment the passing clouds blotted her from sight.
But even the fairies who all the time are witnessing the most wonderful things were quite astounded when Euphrosyne in what seemed to be the very next moment appeared with the dove right in their very midst.
“What is your wish?” she said to Queen Titania.
“Oh, beautiful Euphrosyne,” said the little queen, “we are much concerned over the wicked Dragonfel.”
“The enchanter across the sea?” said Euphrosyne.
“And what about him?”
“He threatens harm to the fairies.”
“Do not borrow trouble,” said Euphrosyne.
“Sometimes people make foolish threats, and when others heed them they have a good deal of needless worry.” All looked very much relieved, and Queen Titania said: “Your encouraging words comfort us greatly.”
“If I were you,” advised Euphrosyne, “I’d always keep the portcullis down, and be very careful about admitting strangers. Don’t let anyone in without a first-class reference. If Dragonfel annoys you, let me know.”
“But how?” asked Queen Titania.
“You can send this magic dove to me!”
They looked at her, but she was gone, and no one knew whither. She seemed to have just melted away. Where her hand had been there was a dove, and, as it started to flutter off, with some difficulty they caught it.
Though she was very much encouraged by all Euphrosyne had said, Queen Titania still thought it prudent to post on one of the palace walls a warning placard so that those who ran might read.
And, it proved a task that was sufficient to interest some of the fairies the rest of the afternoon, and, by the time they got through, they were able to make some show at hitting the nail on the head.
CHAPTER III
FLORIMEL REACHES THE ENCHANTED
COUNTRY
On and on flew Prince Florimel from the wicked uncle who meant to do him harm.
The friendly stars shone down to guide him on his way, but just what that way was he did not know. His only thought to put the palace as far behind him as he could, and at times he turned his head to look back at its frowning, shadowy walls that finally disappeared from sight. Florimel gave a deep sigh of relief, but did not relax his speed in the slightest.
The words of the faithful old Gando were strongly impressed upon his mind, and he realized that the duke had designs on his life. When it was discovered that he was missing, a search would be made for him, and once in the power of the duke it would go hard with him.
So on he ran, and the few people whom he met paid little or no heed to him, thinking perhaps that he was some frightened peasant-child hastening to or from home upon some urgent night-errand. And as he went, always further and further away from the palace, the houses grew fewer and still fewer, till finally he found himself out in the open country.
The stars were paling out, and by this time Florimel was very tired, so that when he saw a hay-stack in a field he quickly sought it, and burrowing from sight down into the sweet-smelling mass was soon asleep.
The sun was up when he awoke refreshed. He heard the cooling trickle of a brook hard by, and drank thirstily, and laved his face and hands. Some distance off upon a dew-spangled hillside thin smoke curled lazily up from the thatched roof of a farmer’s cottage. Florimel who felt the qualms of hunger drew nigh to it resolved to ask for food.
As he approached the cottage a dog stretched out in the doorway to enjoy the first genial rays of the sun jumped up and started to bark, but almost instantly his barks ceased, and he wagged his tail instead with friendly violence.
A stout, middle-aged woman with a kerchief on her head came to the open door and eyed him questioningly.
“Good mother,” he said, with a winning smile, “may I trespass upon your hospitality? I would fain break my fast, and this coin will pay my way.”
“Food have we a-plenty, and to spare,” said the kind-hearted woman, “so that you are welcome to it. But who are you, and whence came you? You do not speak like a peasant’s child.”
“Nay, I have some knowledge of fair speech,” said Florimel. “Yet do I count myself one of the people. And I fare from the city in quest of adventure. See, I have brought this bow and quiver of arrows with me!”
“Then most surely you will find it,” said the dame, “for we live almost on the edge of the kingdom, and beyond that line of deep woods there is a strange country with adventure enough, I warrant you. But come with me, and sit you at the board. My good man has gone to loose the sheep from the fold, and will be back very soon.”
So Florimel followed his hostess into the plain kitchen, and took his place at a bare wooden table while she busied herself in the preparation of the meal. And, as he sat there, and she was occupied with her task, there rose from outside a sudden hub-bub, made up of the gallop of many horses’ hoofs, the clank and rattle of swords and uniforms, and the jargon of excited human voices.
The woman in great curiosity rushed from the oven to the door, and Florimel jumped down from his chair, running after her, and peering out from behind her.
“Soldiers!” she cried, astounded beyond measure. “What are they doing here, I wonder?”
LOOKING FOR BROWNIES
The farmer with cap in hand looked up at them, awed and confused by their fine airs and magnificence, and while they volleyed questions at him silently and stupidly shook his head, until at last in their impatience and disgust they put spurs to their horses’ flanks and galloped off in clouds of dust.
Then the good man ran toward the house, suddenly finding voice, and shouting at his wife:
“Here’s a great to do! The young Prince Florimel has disappeared in the night, and the whole kingdom is aroused!”
Then noticing Florimel for the first time he asked:
“But who is this?”
“A chance guest to break his fast with us,” said his wife. “But let us eat before the food grows cold.”
So Florimel partook heartily of the plain fare of the farmer and his wife, and throughout the meal the talk of his hosts was of the missing prince.
“Poor lad!” said the woman with a sigh.
“I hope that all is well with him. Yet much I fear this search for him is vain. His uncle, the duke, could tell, I warrant, what has happened to him. But he will never be heard of more, and the wicked duke will now be king.” “You who have come from the city,” said the farmer to Florimel, “no doubt some time have seen the poor prince. What kind of a young lad was he? A likely one, so I have heard.” “He had his faults,” admitted Florimel. “He was very small of build—no taller than I. When last I saw him he looked not unlike me. I doubt if he weighed a penny weight more.”
“Was he handsome?” asked the woman.
“Am I handsome?” asked Florimel in return.
“Candor compels me to tell you you are not,” she frankly said, “though you are not ill-favored, either.”
“Still if I wore the prince’s attire,” said Florimel, “I would be as handsome as he. But let us change the subject. You spoke but a while ago of that strange country which lies adjacent to this. In what manner is it strange?”
“But little is known of it,” said the woman, “for, in truth, it is a place to be avoided. There are few humans bold enough to penetrate its mysteries, for in the forests and dense undergrowth are savage beasts that wreak harm. Often we can hear their wild cries at night, and our hearts are chilled. And, even if one escape the beasts, there are Brownies and fairies to weave their mystic charm.”
“Are the Brownies there too?” asked Florimel, with interest.
“Aye, that they are!” said the woman. “But it is not the Brownies that would hurt you. They are kind little creatures who would help instead of harm you.”
“I would like to see them,” said Florimel reflectively. “Many a night as I lay in my bed have I dreamed of the Brownies.”
“See them you cannot,” said the woman decidedly, “since you have not second sight. Many have tried to see the Brownies, but they have failed through lack of supernatural vision. But there are Brownies nevertheless, and they go everywhere. Of that we have abundant proof, have we not, husband?”
“Aye!” said the farmer. “Once when I lay flat upon my back, and the grain in the field was in danger of rot, the Brownies came one night and harvested it. In the morning it was all cut and stacked.”
“Yes,” the good wife hastened to add, “and that very same night they churned the cream to butter.”
“Are you sure the Brownies did it?” asked Florimel, in surprise. “Who else but the Brownies?” said the farmer positively. “We had set a bowl of cream for that is all they ask, and next morning the cream was gone. Wife, show him the bowl!”
The woman thereupon exhibited an empty blue delf bowl, and Florimel was convinced. He rose with his hosts from the table, and went to the doorway from which he gazed to the far line of woods that now held such charm for him.
“Let me pay you my faring, good people,” he said, “for I would be on my way.”
“Nay, there is naught you owe us,” said the farmer, “for you have been a welcome guest. You are a fine young lad, and I have a fancy for you. You had better bide here with us. There is work for you to do for your board and lodging. I need someone to tend the sheep.”
“I thank you, my good man,” said Florimel, “but I must leave you.”
“Whither would you go?”
“To that strange country of which your good wife spoke.”
“Say not so, young master,” implored the woman earnestly. “There are wild beasts there waiting to devour you.”
“And there are wild beasts of men sometimes even more terrible,” said Florimel. “I will take my chances with the beasts. All that I have loved I have lost, so there is naught to keep me. Each moment I tarry but adds to the danger that encompasses me.”
“Master, can it be?—yes, it must be!” cried the man, with a great light breaking upon him. “You are the prince!”
“Yes, I am indeed he!” said Florimel. “Convey word to my uncle that I am gone, and that the child of the brother who trusted in him will never trouble him again. If the people choose him for their ruler, let the consequences be on their own heads. And now farewell!”
With this last word on his lips he broke into a run. The man with the best of intentions tried to follow in the hope of dissuading him from his rash purpose, while his wife frantically shouted for the young prince to come back.
But with the bow and arrows that might mean so much to him Florimel only increased his pace, so that the other was soon distanced. Finally the man in despair gave up the chase, and stood watching until Florimel turned, waved his hand, and disappeared into the heavy growth of forest. And on and on he went, though nothing extraordinary befell him. So for three days he continued, suffering neither from hunger nor from thirst, for there were plenty of pure brooks at which he could lave and drink, and it was the time of the delicious tomtom, a juicy fruit everywhere in great abundance, which tasted like a banana flavored with vanilla ice cream, and which had all the sustaining qualities of beefsteak.
Of this Florimel partook heartily and at will, as well as of berries and nuts, and when weary slept for precaution’s sake in the forked branches of trees, with his rest broken only by the crashing of some skulking animal through thick, tangled underbrush in quest of prey or a long, drawn-out, shuddering night-cry that would chill his blood and cause his heart for a moment to cease its beat.
Still there were trees growing thickly together, and retarding and making difficult one’s advance. But, just when he was growing discouraged, they began to thin out, and he came into more open spaces.
Finally he reached a tiny lake that shone like a turquoise in a bowl-like formation at the base of a steep hill.
A path ran up the hillside, and this evidently had been much in use, for the grass was worn and trodden by many feet. On a ledge there was an old, decaying, leafless tree, and on one of its gaunt, top-branches that jutted over the lake a pair of intrepid eagles had built their nest. Florimel looked up and spied the young eaglets who were just old enough to essay flight, selfishly trying to crowd each other out of their airy structure of sticks and straws. Far overhead their parents described invisible circles in the sky, emitting as they did so harsh shrieks of pride.
While he gazed upward, thinking meanwhile that it was a strange abode for eagles to choose, in place of the customary mountain-crag, he was suddenly startled by the savage roar of beasts.
Quick as a flash he turned, and saw a wild, fierce, snarling pack—a confused, horrifying vision of lions, tigers, and leopards—their red tongues lolling from their watering mouths—their nostrils dilated at the scent of human blood—flying with leaps and bounds to rend and tear him apart and devour him.
Desperately he seized an arrow from the quiver, and placing it in the bow pointed it at them and pulled back the cord.
But the cord snapped in twain, and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.
CHAPTER IV
THE HUMAN OCTOPUS STARTS
UPON A MISSION
Across the minor sea whose blue, sparkling waters kissed the fair shores of Queen Titania’s fairy kingdom, about a hundred leagues as flies the crow, there was another country where lived the notorious enchanter Dragonfel.
A fairy messenger on a winged steed had conveyed information that Dragonfel intended to make trouble. But this was nothing new for Dragonfel.
As a matter of fact, he was always trying to make trouble for everybody. Trouble was his specialty.
Dragonfel was not a nice man, and, if you had known him, you would not have liked him. He cheated when he played croquet, and he was always claiming wickets that he never made. He did not go to Sunday School, either. If he had gone, he would not have put a penny in the plate for the heathen. That was the kind of man he was.
Yet he was the possessor of fabulous riches, and he never would have missed what he might have given away had he been charitably inclined, which he was not in the least.
No one else in the whole world was as wealthy as he. He owned a combination mine in which were diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and other precious gems galore, some of them as big as cobblestones.
It may be said with safety that Dragonfel was inclined to have his own way, and carry out his own ideas. He was very rich, and had money to burn. When in the mood of celebrating some great event, such as the Burial of Good Intentions, or the Failure in Eden, instead of climbing on some rock to set off firecrackers, burn Roman candles, or discharge toy cannon, he delighted in burning Bank Bonds, Legal Tenders, or Government Securities of large denominations, until the ashes of them were declared a nuisance by his Board of Health, and with reluctance he would discontinue his celebration.
As is usual in all such great operations there were panics at times, through alarms of fire, explosions, or escaping gas, when everybody tried to get out at once and but few could escape.
One day it would be the danger of being smothered, the next of being roasted, the third of a cave-in where all would be buried alive, and so from hour to hour fear was in the way.
There were mine-sprites whom he kept steadily at work, without regard for Union hours, digging the gems out with their fingers.
The poor mine-sprites were greatly over-worked, and not the least regard was paid to life or limb. The hours were long as they struggled at the wheelbarrows or mine-carts, either pushing or pulling, with their unreasonable loads piled high in the air, and with gems that in the market would have brought enough to pay the debt of a Principality slipping off, and rolling in the dust.
The palace of Dragonfel was a sight, and it would have made your eyes blink to see it. It was constructed entirely of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds all stuck together with cement. There were no opals, because Dragonfel thought they were unlucky. If you could have pried off any one of them you would have had enough to keep you in the greatest luxury all your life. The famous Kohinoor was but a grain of sand compared to any of them.
Back of the palace, and casting a frowning shadow over it, was a single towering mountain whose top was an extinct volcano. No one could recall the exact date of its last eruption, for Dragonfel stubbornly insisted upon running his business without an almanac. There were those scientifically inclined who leaned to the theory that the volcano had been the cause of all the gems in Dragonfel’s mine.
Though it must have been a very long time since the volcano had celebrated with home-made fireworks, the enchanter had always anticipated a further display, so he had taken the precaution to buy an old-fashioned fire-engine which was installed conveniently at hand in a building over whose doors was the caption: NEPTUNE HOOK AND LADDER CO. NO 1. In the building were plenty of rubber coats, boots, and red helmets. Everything was ready for an emergency.
There were some who declared that Dragonfel had some business connection with Beelzebub, but, whether this was true or not, he had the bad taste to get himself up after the authentic portraits of that disreputable person. He was very tall indeed, with almost a scarlet countenance, and he wore a long, flowing cloak that was a perfect match for his complexion. He kept his hair rather long, and brushed it stiffly up, to convey the impression that he had a natural horn.
He boasted a host of followers, all big, hulking black-guards of giant-like stature, with repulsive names such as Boundingbore, Mandrake, Wolfinger, Grouthead, Snoutpimple, and the like, and whenever they did something mean he rewarded them. The consequence was that they were trying to do mean things all the time.
They were in charge of the mine, and the way they treated the poor mine-sprites was awful. It was a good thing for them that the officers of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children were unable to get around.
So on a certain day, following his usual custom, Dragonfel was making an inspection of the mine. He had descended through a secret passage, and walked about the dark chambers lit here and there by gloomy flares of light.
Guarded by the enchanter’s cruel followers, the mine-sprites, poor little, emaciated, witch-like creatures in tattered clothes, were digging away with their raw, bruised fingers at the sides of earth and exhuming precious stones. They were not allowed to use picks, for that would have made the work easy.
Diamonds, rubies, pearls, amethysts, emeralds, and other gems, every one of them worth a king’s ransom, lay piled about carelessly in heaps. The opals when they were discovered were thrown away. Sprites kept staggering off with heavy loads in wheelbarrows.
Dragonfel surveyed the work with great satisfaction, and asked Grouthead who was in general charge:
“When were they fed last?”
“Three days ago, kind master!”
Everyone called him “kind master,” though whether this was in sarcasm or not no one knew.
“See that they don’t get anything to eat before the full week is up,” ordered Dragonfel. “And that reminds me of my own dinner. Boundingbore, tell the cook I want turtle soup, spiced venison pastries, apple dumplings, strawberry shortcake, and iced lemonade with plenty of crushed raspberries in it.”
The mouths of the poor little mine-sprites watered, and they smacked their lips, but Grouthead snapped his long snake-whip so that it sounded like a pistol-shot, and they frantically continued digging away in the earth with their fingers.
Boundingbore flew to do Dragonfel’s bidding, and Snoutpimple observed, rather timidly:
“The air down here is very bad, kind master!”
“That’s good,” said Dragonfel, with hearty unction. “It might make me ill if I were obliged to remain, so as I have a proper regard for my health I think I will get right out into the open.”
Attended by Mandrake, Snoutpimple, Wolfinger, and some of the rest, he went on his way, while Grouthead snapped his whip to incite the frightened, gasping, exhausted mine-sprites to further effort.
When he came up out of the shaft Dragonfel gave a deep breath of relief as his nostrils sucked in the bracing air that had a salt tang of the sea in it. Out in the harbor there tossed a galleon on the lazy swell—a craft built low amid-ship, and with both bow and stern curving high into the air.
Dragonfel gazed off at it with interest, and remarked:
“It may come in handy soon if these Brownies and fairies continue longer. They are getting altogether too good, and must be stopped. But let us go back to the palace to see if anything has happened in our absence.”
Nothing else was to be seen on the wide water to draw his attention, except some mermaids who were above the waves, engaged in combing their hair, who, to most people, are very interesting.
A little bird with very acute hearing listened intently to his words as it lightly balanced on the twig of a gumdrop tree, and then flew straight across the sea to tell a fairy, who told the other fairies. Dragonfel with his big, clumsy, lumbering cohorts strode on to the palace that was guarded by a Demon Usher—a queer, comical-looking chap who with his wings much resembled a human grasshopper, and who half flew, half walked.
He had thin little wisps of hair sticking out from each side of his nose, like the scanty whiskers of a cat.
The Demon Usher with hops and jumps escorted him to a magnificent throne, and grovelled with smirks before him, while Dragonfel with what he thought to be the quintessence of grace sank upon it, and then arranged himself in what he imagined was a kingly posture.
“Well,” he gruffly said, “has anyone been here since I’ve been gone?”
“No, kind master!” the Demon Usher hastened to assure him. “No one has been here since the band and you remember them.”
“Ah, that band!” repeated Dragonfel, with a shudder. “I can’t get their notes out of my ears yet. But what have we here?”
A huge creature resembling an octopus, with great, staring eyes popping from his head, and hundreds of fuzzy tentacles protruding in all directions from his grotesque body, came crawling toward him. Straightway Dragonfel sprang up from the throne, while Wolfinger, Mandrake, Boundingbore, and Snoutpimple, who had assumed respectful positions at his sides, drew back in alarm.
But the Demon Usher gave a cackle of a laugh, and gleefully rubbed his hands together as though he were washing them with invisible soap.
“Have no fear, kind master!” said a thin, piping voice from somewhere within the horrid creature’s hulk. “Is not this a pretty disguise?”
“The Red Spirit, as I live!” cried Dragonfel, in a tone of admiration not unmixed with relief. “You rascal, why have you chosen this masquerade?”
“But is it not a clever one?” persisted the Red Spirit. “See, kind master, I can either compress or expand myself at will.”
As he spoke he shrank to practical insignificance, and then almost immediately afterward swelled out until it seemed that he would burst.
“Capital!” said Dragonfel encouragingly. “You can be of great assistance to me. I have a mean task for you to do.”
“The meaner the better, kind master!”
Dragonfel raised his arm, and pointed toward a window that gave a vista of the far-off, smiling sea.
“Go, Human Octopus,” he commanded, “and spy upon the Brownies and fairies!” Without another word the hideous object started to crawl off by means of his myriad tentacles, and all who were present watched his convulsive, eccentric movements with malicious satisfaction.
CHAPTER V
PRINCE FLORIMEL MEETS
THE BROWNIES
Prince Florimel gave a great shudder of fright when the gift of his ex-fairy godmother so utterly failed him in that moment of terrible danger. As the savage beasts, screaming for his blood, came toward him, he turned and fled, without relaxing his hold upon the treacherous bow. He made a frantic leap for the trunk of the tree, and grasping one of the low branches pulled himself up with desperate haste as far as he could.
The beasts with thunderous roars and sharp teeth showing sprang up at him, and a lion with knife-like claws just grazed the skin of one of his legs, and tore off a portion of his garment.
Florimel climbed up further, and still further, for safety, while the animals roaring their defeat continued to hurl themselves at the tree until it shook and shook again.
Finally they took to fighting among themselves, with outcries that were terrible, and finished by slinking or limping away discomfited.
The eaglets disturbed by all this clamor perched on the edges of their nest as though deliberating upon the hazard of trying for the first time their wings in the dizzy space of blue. High overhead their angry parents soared screaming their protests at what seemed to them an unwarrantable intrusion.
Still retaining the bow, Florimel climbed out toward the nest, intending to usurp possession of it, and with timid flaps of their untried wings the eaglets essayed flight. Finding they could fly, they soon gained confidence, and joined the parent-birds who led them a mad aerial chase.
Soon Florimel was the sole tenant of the nest, and, after he had established himself comfortably in his new quarters, he set about to repair the damage to the bow.
He tied the broken cord securely, and drew it taut, pulling it back as far as he could repeatedly, but he did not waste in a trial one of the remaining arrows in his quiver. For, though it had already brought to him one grievous disappointment, he still had faith in his ex-fairy godmother’s gift.
The eagles resenting his possession of their home kept flying threateningly at him, but every time they came near he menaced them with the bow and drove them away. Finally they alighted on another limb of the tree, where they all sat in a row viewing him with silent moody protest.
Worn by fatigue and excitement Florimel closed his eyes in sleep, with an arm bared to the elbow hanging from the nest. When at last he was awakened by a confused babel of voices from below, dusk had fallen, and a crescent moon hung low in the sky.
The eagles young and old in agitated manner once more were circling the darkening sky, and leaning over the nest and looking down Florimel was astounded by what he saw.