Produced by Al Haines
THE TALE OF LAL
A FANTASY
BY
RAYMOND PATON
AUTHOR OF "THE DRUMMER OF THE DAWN"
BRENTANO'S CHAPMAN & HALL LTD.
NEW YORK LONDON
1914
AN EXPLANATION AND AN APOLOGY
Upon behalf of Ridgwell and Christine the author has been urged to explain that three things—facts, common-sense, and probability—have of necessity been throughout entirely omitted in relating this story. The children, however, have comforted the author by declaring that these particular things are not required at all in any book of the present day, but are merely an old-fashioned survival of the past, which is gradually dying out.
One of the sole remaining examples we possess of fact, common-sense, and probability being the celebration of the 5th of November, which has somehow become a day of national thanksgiving, and is without doubt one of the most important dates in the calendar, and very dear to the hearts of the English people.
A PREFACE
The aspect of Trafalgar Square, like everything else in the world, depends largely upon how it is viewed, and through whose eyes it is seen.
A Japanese artist, for instance, visiting London, immediately selected Trafalgar Square seen by night-time as a subject for a picture. He thoughtfully omitted any suggestion of either omnibuses, taxi-cabs, or the populace.
He likewise decided that all the statues were most unpicturesque, and the varied and flashing electric advertisements to be seen hung up on high around the Square were not only hideous but impossible.
Consequently this imaginative being flung upon his canvas a mysterious blue space, void of anything save the brilliantly coloured lanterns of his own land, swung upon bamboo poles, trembling in the darkness at picturesquely convenient distances. The effect was quite beautiful, but of course it could not in any way be considered as a reasonable likeness of this particular Square.
A French artist also selecting this portion of London for a picture, determined at once that it would be more becoming, not to say diplomatic, to paint only one end of the low stone wall surrounding the Square; yet entertaining doubts afterwards that it might not perhaps be recognised, he added the central stone cupola of the National Gallery, appearing over all like a hastily bestowed blessing, but covered the remaining space upon his canvas with imaginary stalls of glowing flowers, and even more imaginary flower-sellers. His picture was greatly admired, and very much resembled the Market Square in Havre upon a Monday morning.
A Spanish artist chancing to pass the same way, likewise hastily completed a picture of Trafalgar Square as he wished to see it, adding by way of a decorative effect a lattice-work of trellised vines like unto his beloved vineyards of Andalusia. Dwarf oranges grew in profusion and hung their coloured golden globes over the squat stone walls. A brilliant Southern sun beat upon both, baking the walls red-hot and ripening the oranges at one and the same time. This picture the artist named Trafalgar Square when the Sun Shines.
A Cubist painter, not to be outdone with regard to his point of view of such a subject, covered an immense canvas with wonderful heaving squares of ochre and green, viewed from a background suggesting endless mud. This suggestion, however, may have been in the nature of a small tribute to the usual condition of the London streets. This production which the Cubist artist was optimistic enough to name simply Trafalgar Square, was instantly bought by a famous geologist, who to this day indulges in the beautiful belief that he possesses the only indication of what this particular portion of the world was like before ever the earth was made.
Last of all arrived a Futurist painter, who painted everything in Trafalgar Square, and nothing that did not appear in it. The painter, however, selected a really wonderful aspect of the Square, seen from a most strange angle, a sort of bird's-eye view of it, which could only have been obtained from a balloon. So remarkable was the perspective that the entire Square, as seen in the picture, appeared as if it were being gradually drawn sideways up to Heaven. The great Nelson column and all the four lions could be viewed simultaneously, and the artist had painted all the four lions alike.
Now a Writer whose chambers overlooked Trafalgar Square, and who was acquainted with its every aspect, by night as well as day, knew full well that the Futurist artist was wrong when he painted all the four lions alike. The Writer knew that one Lion was totally different from all the others; so the Writer smiled and kept his own counsel.
I will wait, said the Writer, until somebody else has made the same discovery that I have made. I will remain completely silent concerning one square patch of fairyland placed within the very hub and centre of the Universe, within the busiest part of a great city. When some other traveller finds the key to the mystic place, we shall both discover it is possible to talk about something which nobody else understands, and be enabled to compare notes.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
AN EXPLANATION AND AN APOLOGY A PREFACE
BOOK I
WHAT RIDGWELL AND CHRISTINE DECLARED
I THE PLEASANT-FACED LION II BY ORDER OF THE LION III THE GOLDEN PAVILION IV PREPARING FOR A VISITOR
BOOK II
WHAT THE WRITER AND THE LORD MAYOR DECLARED
V THE WRITER APPEARS ON THE SCENE VI TWO DICK WHITTINGTONS VII THE LION MAKES HIS SIGN VIII AN UPSETTING ARTICLE IN THE MORNING PAPER IX THE WRITER PLANS WICKED PLANS
BOOK III
WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARD ABOUT
X THE LION GOES TO COURT XI THE END OF THE MATTER
BOOK I
WHAT RIDGWELL AND CHRISTINE DECLARED
CHAPTER I
THE PLEASANT-FACED LION
Ridgwell always told Christine afterwards that he thought the Lion first spoke to him in Trafalgar Square, the day when he was lost in the fog.
Ridgwell never knew how he became separated from the rest, but like all other unpleasant experiences it was one step, so to speak, and there he was, wandering about lost. The fog appeared to have swallowed up the friends he had been walking with a moment before; he could only hear voices as if people were talking through a gramophone, and see looming black shadows which did not seem to be accompanied by any bodies; then whack—he walked right into something big which did not move. At this point Ridgwell was seriously thinking about commencing to cry.
"Stop that," said a gruff voice.
"What?" faltered Ridgwell.
"Going to cry."
"I am not sure," said Ridgwell, "that I was."
"I am," said the gruff voice. "I saw the corners of your mouth go down. Now can you climb up? No, of course you can't, you are too small. Here, catch hold of my paw! There you are!" grunted the Lion, when Ridgwell was seated safely. "You just fit nicely; all the children fit in here. Knock those rolled-up policemen's capes off, they annoy me every day when they put them there. They tickle me, and I can't scratch about with my paws either."
Ridgwell was now lost in amazement, and regarded the Lion in open-mouthed astonishment.
The Lion purred contentedly. It was a nice homely sounding, domestic purr, and many times deeper and more impressive than that of a cat. "What's your name?" demanded the Lion, whilst Ridgwell was still gasping.
"Ridgwell."
"Very appropriate too," said the Lion. "Here you are sitting in safety on the Ridge with me, and you are Well, aren't you?"
"Yes, thank you."
"There you are then," said the Lion. "Ridge-Well, what more do you want? Now I suppose you wish to know who I am? Well, I don't mind telling you. I am the Pleasant-Faced Lion. I am the only real Lion of the four, consequently I have a more intelligent expression than the others. The other three are only just common lions, and are always asleep. Now I come to life once in every generation and have a talk to the children, or to any one grown up who is imaginative enough to understand me. I like children, they are a hobby of mine. I am not in my usual spirits to-day," continued the Lion, "I have caught cold."
"Have you?" said Ridgwell. "I am very sorry."
"Yes, they washed me for Trafalgar Day in some beastly solution which was most unsuitable to me. I cannot shake off the cold. Hang on!" shouted the Lion suddenly, "I am going to sneeze, and I may shake you off the pedestal." Whereupon the Lion grabbed Ridgwell gently with his paw to steady him, and after sneezing heavily, proceeded. "After washing me for Trafalgar Day, which was most unnecessary, they hung a ridiculous wreath round my neck with a large N in leaves upon it. To add to the injury, an absurd person stood staring at me and explained to her children that the N stood for Napoleon. Bah!!!" growled the Lion. "Bah!!! Ignorance!"
"What did it stand for?" asked Ridgwell.
"Nile," grunted the Lion. "Short for Battle of the Nile."
"But I am so astonished. I did not know that you could talk, Mister
Lion."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't call me Mister Lion, call me Lal."
"Why Lal?" inquired Ridgwell.
"Short for Lionel," whispered the Lion. "Lionel is my proper name."
"Oh, I see, but, Mister——"
"There you go again," said the Lion. "Call me Lal and be friendly."
"Indeed I am very friendly, Mister—I mean Lal; but there are so many things I don't understand."
"Common complaint of little boys," grumbled the Lion, "and you are going to see a lot more things in a minute that you will find most amazing. For instance, would you like to see a tournament?"
"Rather, Lal, I've always longed to see a tournament, but they never have such things now, do they? Aren't they all ended in England?"
"On the contrary," declared the Lion, "one is about to begin."
"Where?"
"Here in front of your eyes, and if you like you shall stay and see it. St. George outside Westminster has challenged the Griffin at Temple Bar to fight. All the really important Statue folk will be present. King Richard I from outside the Houses of Parliament will ride up to see fair play. Charles I. will come over from Whitehall across the road; Oliver Cromwell will most likely put in an appearance, if he can only make up his mind to leave his mound outside the Commons in those big boots of his."
"But, Lal," questioned Ridgwell, "surely Charles I. and Cromwell won't come to the Tournament together? Will they speak and be friendly?"
"No, no," confessed the Lion, "we still have great trouble with those two, they never speak. You see Cromwell is jealous of Charles, because Charles is mounted upon a nice horse, and rides past Cromwell and never notices him at all. Now Cromwell has to go about on foot, squeaking and squelching in those big boots, so that he never gets up to Charles, which annoys Cromwell very much."
"Why?"
"Well, you see, Cromwell wants to shout out 'Ha!!!' at Charles, and he never gets a chance. Cromwell gets left out very much in the cold," continued the Lion, "Richard I. never notices him either."
"Why is that?" asked Ridgwell.
"It's like this," said the Lion, "and it's only reasonable when you come to think of it. Richard I. spent nearly the whole of his time fighting to preserve a shrine, whilst Cromwell spent most of his time destroying them. Of course that annoys Richard, so Richard simply looks through Cromwell whenever they meet. Nothing would induce him to notice Cromwell."
"I should think that must annoy Cromwell," debated Ridgwell.
"It does," agreed the Lion, "but Cromwell always shouts out Ho! at Richard; he thinks Ho! is more appropriate to Richard's period. Richard, however, with perfect self-possession which is beyond all praise, never appears to hear him at all. Cromwell will always keep turning his head round to stare most rudely at Richard and Charles as they gallop past, hoping that Richard will hear him shout Ho! and Charles will hear him shout Ha!, and that irritating habit of his, together with Charles's treatment of the matter, was probably the origin of the terms, 'Roundhead' and 'Cavalier.'"
"Really!" said Ridgwell.
The Lion coughed slightly. "Not really," said the Lion, "only perhaps."
"But, Lal, if the statues of London move about and are coming here for a tournament as you say, won't people miss them?"
"Good gracious goodness, no," exclaimed the Lion. "Why! the people of London wouldn't miss them in a year, let alone a few hours! Then perhaps some person might notice something wasn't in its usual place and would write to the papers asking what it meant, and the London County Council would hold an inquiry."
"But, Lal, will General Gordon, George III. and Nelson take part in the
Tournament?"
"Bless me, child, how you mix up your history," observed the Lion, "of course not. They are only moderns, the others are ancients. Two Kings waiting to see fair play between a Griffin and a Saint who are about to have a fight, belong to quite another time. George III. and General Gordon are moved out of the way before the combat starts; and as for Nelson, he was frozen long ago up there; it is a ridiculous attitude for so great a man, and a worse altitude, but there he is, and you cannot alter it; however he is frozen and mercifully doesn't feel anything or see anything that is going on."
"But if they are going to fight and charge one another, won't the fountains be in the way?" inquired Ridgwell anxiously, as he looked up into the Lion's good-humoured face.
"If you look again hard," grinned the Lion, "you will find that the fountains and the stone lakes around them have disappeared."
Ridgwell immediately looked in the direction the Lion indicated, and was amazed to find only a big, wide, open space of stone, one of the largest spaces in London.
"But how did they——" commenced Ridgwell.
"Hush!" said the Lion, "you really mustn't chatter any more. Here they come, and I have to be Judge of the Tournament, also the Referee; and to be a Referee," sighed the Lion, "is always a thankless task."
At this moment, amidst a clatter that was indescribable, the Griffin, looking a most ungainly object, came gallumping into the open space.
The Griffin appeared to be all wings, and scales, and claws, yet this somewhat grisly appearance was entirely misleading, for he possessed an amiable, although foolish disposition, whilst his expression owed much of its peculiarity to a habit he had acquired of breaking into broad smiles of astonished self-appreciation. The Griffin was very vain, and the one thing he craved for was notoriety.
"Good evening, Lionel; where's George?" demanded the Griffin. "I don't see him."
"You'll see quite enough of him before he's finished with you," retorted the Pleasant-Faced Lion, loftily. "However, here he comes."
St. George at this moment entered the wide stone space immediately in front of the Lion, to whom he made a profound salute.
St. George looked very handsome in his scaly armour, and his short bright sword glistened blue in the half light. Ridgwell had little time to notice other details, for two horsemen came galloping in.
Both were in armour and both were mounted upon beautiful horses.
"Who are they?" asked Ridgwell.
"Don't you see?" whispered the Lion. "King Richard I. and King Charles I. Ah," sighed the Lion, "what a noble figure Richard is! He is my special favourite; you see," explained the Lion, "he is named after me."
"Is he?"
"Of course. Is he not called Richard Coeur-de-Lion? I am de-Lion," announced the Lion proudly. "He carried a picture of me on his shield once. You may notice," proceeded the Lion, "that King Charles unfortunately rides slightly upon one side. It is not his fault, but owing to the fact that he has no girth to his saddle."
The horsemen wheeled one to either end of the arena before bringing their horses to a standstill.
The two opponents, St. George and the Griffin, stood facing each other in the centre, waiting for the combat to commence.
"Before we start," announced the Lion, "I am the Judge. There is, of course, to be no bloodshed; indeed," he added, in his wisest and most judicial manner, "bloodshed is impossible. The Griffin is almost over-protected (if I can use such a term) with scales, St. George is fully covered with armour. The Griffin possesses his remarkable claws, St. George a flat sword, so both are well matched. Therefore the contest resolves itself into a trial of skill and strength. Both shall be weighed in the scales."
"He! he! he!" sniggered the Griffin, "if my scales cannot crush the scales of George's blatant armour may I live to bite my own nails. Why, I will squash him as flat as an empty meat tin."
"Swank," murmured St. George, nonchalantly.
"The reason of the contest," continued the Lion in a loud voice, as if he were reading from some document which he had committed to memory, "is owing to a ridiculous assertion made by the Griffin. The Griffin claims to be the older established of the two. St. George laughs at this claim derisively. The Griffin sorely provoked to it, unfortunately fell back upon dates, and his memory being very weak he hoped to conceal his shakiness about dates, with phrases. He therefore declared that Temple Bar where he now stands, once possessed two gates which have since been removed. Nevertheless the Griffin contends that he is still there and Temple Bar is still there; in this he is undoubtedly right; yet, not content with this, he further asserts that this is the whole cause and origin of the phrase, 'Two to one, Bar one.' St. George here present, who knows something about horses, immediately called him a—well, it is not a nice word," broke off the Lion in parenthesis, "anyway St. George intimated that the truth was not in the Griffin. Hence a trial by combat. Are you ready?" roared the Lion; "then commence."
From his quite comfortable seat between the Lion's paws, Ridgwell now watched the strangest combat he would ever be likely to witness.
The Griffin advanced towards St. George with about as much grace as a dancing camel would possess. His excessive angularity was accentuated by his extraordinary clumsiness. St. George did not appear at all disconcerted by the flapping of the Griffin's wings, but managed to avoid his clumsy clutches with great skill. Had St. George not slipped upon a piece of orange-peel, inadvertently left upon the floor of the arena, it is doubtful if the Griffin would ever have touched him. As St. George slipped, the Griffin hugged him tightly. Ridgwell held his breath, for it almost seemed as if St. George's armour must indeed crumple up.
"Meat tins," shrieked the Griffin.
"Break away," commanded the Lion.
"Here, I say," snorted the Griffin, "I'd only just got him."
"Break away," ordered the Lion, "no hugging."
The Griffin retired to his corner pouting.
When the second bout started, Ridgwell noticed that there was something like a smile upon St. George's face, and he soon understood the reason of it. St. George had found out his adversary's weak spot.
The Griffin advancing with a rush upon his hind legs, with his front claws doubled up reaching high over St. George to pull him down, was brought to a sudden standstill.
There was a rapid sound of "Whack! whack! whack! whack!" four times.
St. George had hit the Griffin with the flat of his sword upon the most tender part of the Griffin's claws. The Griffin's mouth trembled.
"Whack! whack! whack! whack!" came four more swashing blows, whilst the Griffin hesitated. Then the Griffin broke down completely, and wept aloud bitterly.
"He's broken my knuckles," sobbed the Griffin.
"Do you give in?" asked the Lion.
"Oh yes," sobbed the Griffin. "Oh! my poor paws."
"Shall he chase you round the arena?" demanded the Lion.
"No," whimpered the Griffin; "I'll go home quietly."
Thereupon King Richard raised his sword and saluted to indicate that the fight was over, and followed by King Charles, who still swerved slightly to one side in his saddle, the two Kings rode out of the Square.
"Shake hands?" asked St. George of the Griffin, before he departed.
The Griffin shook his head dolefully instead, whilst great tears coursed down his cheeks.
"Oh no," sniffed the Griffin, "I don't think I shall ever shake hands again."
When everybody had gone, the Griffin slowly hobbled to his feet, and moving towards home, half sobbed and half sang in a way that was intensely comic—
"Oh! Temple Bar, Oh! Temple Bar,
With broken knuckles you seem so far.
And all my claws are broken too;
Oh! Temple Bar, what shall I do?
To hit me with a sword held flat,
'Twas grim of George to think of that."
"Now you have seen the tournament," observed the Lion to Ridgwell, "I suppose you will have to get home somehow."
"Yes, please, Lal."
"And of course," said the Pleasant-Faced Lion, "you will want to come again."
"Rather," laughed Ridgwell.
"Well, to-morrow night there is a very different sort of entertainment. I and the Statue folk are going to give an evening party, the grandest you have ever seen, or will ever be likely to see."
"Oh, Lal, can I come and bring Christine?"
"Who is Christine?" inquired the Lion, cautiously; "you know we cannot admit everybody."
"Christine is my little sister. At least," added Ridgwell, "Christine is older than I am, but she is little all the same."
"I see."
"And she would so enjoy it, Lal," pleaded Ridgwell.
"Very well," said the Lion, "both come just this once. Now for home.
Come," commanded the Lion, "jump up. I learned that common expression
from the people who every moment of the day mount upon the horrid Buzz,
Buzz, things."
"Don't you like the Motor Omnibuses then?"
"The Buzz Buzzes you mean, child. No, I dislike them intensely, they make such a noise both day and night that I cannot hear myself purr even. Jump up. Where do you want to go to?"
"To Balham, please, Lal."
"Ah, that's the man with the Ass, isn't it?" demanded the Lion.
For a moment Ridgwell looked quite shocked. "Oh no, Lal, you are thinking of Balaam."
"Spelt the same way," snapped the Lion, who did not like being corrected upon historical matters.
"No, Lal, there is an H in Balham and people never drop it."
"Glad to hear it," grunted the Lion. "I only wish the people who collect the pennies from the passengers upon the Buzz Buzz things would say the same. Day by day," added the Lion in an aggrieved tone, "I hear them shout out the expressions—'Olloway, 'Igate, 'Arrow. The Board Schools," continued the Lion in his wisest tones, "are responsible for a most imperfect system of education."
"But, Lal," pleaded Ridgwell, "you will take me to Balham, won't you?
I do not know how I should get home if you didn't take me there."
"Yes," said the Lion, "of course, I shall take you home, but you mustn't come to see me too often, you know, it's outside the four-mile radius. However," concluded the Lion, "I shall follow the tram lines. Jump up," once more commanded the Lion, "and hang on, because you know I go at a good pace when once started."
Whereupon Ridgwell clambered upon the Pleasant-Faced Lion's back, and convulsively hugging him half round his great neck, buried his head in the Lion's mane and shut his eyes, whilst the Lion took a bold jump from off his pedestal, and started in a brisk trot for Balham.
When they had arrived at their destination outside Ridgwell's home, the
Lion stood in the road and wagged his tail contentedly.
"Thank you for bringing me home, Lal," said Ridgwell as he clambered off the Lion's back.
"Good-night," whispered the Lion hoarsely, for after his long run he was almost out of breath. "Mind you close the hall door safely after you."
The Pleasant-Faced Lion, who appeared to be pleased at having brought his little charge home, stood in the road and purred quite loudly for some time.
But none of the neighbours, who heard the deep sound echoing through the quiet road, thought of looking out of the window. They merely believed the sound proceeded from some powerful motor car which had stopped in the vicinity.
Then the Pleasant-Faced Lion jogged home to his pedestal in Trafalgar
Square, well pleased with his night's work.
CHAPTER II
BY ORDER OF THE LION
"Hullo, Lal!" said Ridgwell, as he looked up at the Lion the following evening.
"Hullo!" rejoined the Lion huskily. "Who is that you have brought with you?"
"This is Christine," said Ridgwell.
"How do you do?" said the Pleasant-Faced Lion, and he seemed to look even more pleasant than usual. The Lion stretched himself, descended from his pedestal, and held out his paw to shake hands with Christine: Christine responded to these greetings shyly.
Ridgwell really thought the Lion was one of the most amiable creatures he had ever met.
"If you do not mind," the Lion observed to Christine, "you might walk upon the other side of Ridgwell and not next to me."
"Oh, Lal, why?" asked Christine.
"Who asked Christine to call me Lal?" inquired the Lion, as he lifted his head up with an intensely comical air of self-importance.
"I did," said Ridgwell; "you told me always to call you Lal."
"Quite right," replied the Lion. "But do you always do exactly alike, you two?"
"Yes, always," said Ridgwell.
"Humph!" grunted the Lion. "Suppose there is only one apple and you both want it, what happens?"
"We exactly divide it," said Ridgwell.
"Mathematically correct," said the Lion. "Good."
"But please why can't I walk next to you, Mister Lion?"
"Ha!" shrieked the Lion, "there she goes, Mister Lion. You taught her that too, I suppose."
"Hush, Lal," said Ridgwell, "don't get excited. Christine will soon get out of the habit and call you Lal, directly she knows how pleasant you are."
"You haven't answered my question, Lal," objected Christine.
"Well, little Christine, it is like this," and the Lion pondered deeply for awhile. "If you walked next to me and rested your hand upon my mane as you are doing now, anybody who saw us might take us for Una and the Lion, otherwise Beauty and the Beast, and oh! my dear child," implored the Lion, "you surely could not wish me ever to be called a beast."
"Of course not," said Christine; "we wouldn't hurt your feelings for worlds. So, Ridgie, you walk next to Lal, and I will walk the other side of you."
"A most reasonable child," muttered the Lion, "really quite reasonable."
"Did you bring the sulphur tablets?" asked the Lion mysteriously.
"Yes, here they are. Christine has them wrapped up in a packet," explained Ridgwell; "but, Lal, what can you want with sulphur tablets? You promised me we should both be asked to the party, but sulphur tablets do seem such an odd thing to want as a start. I have thought over it, and Christine has thought over it, and we cannot really think what they can be for."
The Lion chuckled his most pleasant chuckle.
"Give it up?"
"Yes," nodded Ridgwell.
"So would any one else," grinned the Lion, "except me. Have you ever thought how the thick yellow London fogs come?" inquired the Lion insinuatingly. "Do you know what causes them?"
"No," said Ridgwell. "I don't think anybody knows that."
"I do," replied the Lion.
"What causes them, then?" asked Ridgwell.
"The yellow fogs are caused solely by the habit the other three lions have of sucking sulphur tablets whilst they are asleep," declared the Lion. "They are always sleeping, and directly two sulphur tablets are placed in the corner of each one's mouth they go on sleeping and breathing, sleeping and breathing. The result is a thick yellow fog."
"I never knew that was the cause of London fogs," mused Ridgwell.
"One of them," sighed the Lion; "and who can wonder at it? Just look at the size of their mouths."
"But your mouth is as large as theirs, is it not?" debated Christine.
"Yes," said the Lion, "but there is a particular reason for my mouth being large."
"Why?" asked the children.
"On account of all the wisdom I utter," replied the Lion loftily.
"Anyway," said Ridgwell, "it does seem a horrid preparation for a party to start with a fog. Surely nobody would see what was going on."
"Hush, hush, my children," remonstrated the Pleasant-Faced Lion. "Just gather round and listen, and do not interrupt. You will be amazed at all the things you are about to see and hear, for you are going to be present to-night for a few minutes at the most wonderful party ever given in the whole world."
"That will be lovely," said Ridgwell and Christine. "And oh! Lal, really we have looked forward to it so much."
The Lion patted each of the children in turn affectionately upon the head with its paw, and they remembered afterwards that his paw was as soft as velvet, and really wasn't heavy at all.
"Chatter, chatter, chatter," said the Lion, "just like the magpies and the sparrows, and the fashionable Society people for that matter, but you must not interrupt. I am just like one of those guides that do all the talking, and if I am interrupted I lose my place, get all my thoughts out of order, and all the ceremony will be wrong. Then King Richard and King Charles will both be down upon me, and say the party was rotten, and that I was to blame; and as for Boadicea, she has a nasty temper, and will probably hit me over the head with her reins."
"Oh, Lal, do you mean to say that King Richard and King Charles and
Boadicea are coming to the party?"
"Yes, all of them," grunted the Lion. "Now be quiet, and just listen. The sulphur tablets which seem to cause you so much mystification are simply to cause a fog upon the outside of Trafalgar Square, and to shut out the sight of the most wonderful party in the world from the gaze of all the other people who have not been invited to it. Imagine the millions of people who would flock to see such a sight, if it were not screened off. Drivers of the Buzz Buzz things they call motor-buses and taxis, loafers, tramps, idlers, City men, work-girls, curious women—and, by the way, remember that women are always curious—would flock in millions, attracted by the lovely lights, which will be brighter than anything you have ever seen, by the jewels, which will be more dazzling than anything you have ever dreamed of, to say nothing about the gorgeous costumes that will rival anything displayed upon the Field of the Cloth of Gold, outdo the splendours of any court, and put the pageant of the grandest pantomime ever witnessed to shame. Follow me," commanded the Lion, "and you will see what you will see only once in your lives, and it all begins with the sulphur tablets."
Ridgwell and Christine followed, and were dumb with amazement. The Lion gently took the packet of sulphur tablets from Christine and thanked her for providing them. Gingerly he approached each of the other three sleeping lions in turn and insinuatingly placed two in the mouth of each lion; one tablet each side between each lion's big front teeth and its tongue.
"It's a dreadful habit," said the Pleasant-Faced Lion, "to suck sulphur tablets in your sleep, but I suppose it's soothing. Now watch," observed Lal maliciously. "Sleeping and breathing, sleeping and breathing, the sulphur tablets will soon commence to work."
Slowly as they watched, thick jets of yellow vapour commenced to rise upward and all around.
"Come," whispered Lal, "the thick fog stops like a wall at the back of their pedestals and all round Trafalgar Square. As I told you," chuckled the Lion, "the fog is only upon the outside of where the party will take place."
He now quickly drew the children out of the fog inside the immense charmed circle of Trafalgar Square, where the atmosphere was quite clear, but as yet quite dark.
The Lion lifted up his head and gave a most piercing and peculiar whistle; once, twice, three times and yet a fourth he repeated this signal.
The signal was answered in a curious manner. The whole space commenced to vibrate with a strange humming sound which resembled violins, violoncellos, flageolets and flutes being played upon very faintly. The sounds were so weirdly fascinating that any one might have imagined it proceeded from a little group of Eastern musicians playing upon reeds in order to charm some snake to uncoil and become sociable after a lengthy seclusion in its wicker-work basket.
"What is that music?" asked Ridgwell.
"The eight Dolphins of the fountains are humming happily. They are waiting to carry out my commands," answered the Lion.
Once again the Lion whistled four times.
Ridgwell and Christine, who were listening intently, could hear the scurrying of flying feet racing along. The sound drew nearer and nearer, until several dark forms were jostling each other immediately in front of where they stood, and they could feel the warm breath of some living things upon their hands. Suddenly in the darkness there was a chorus of hoarse laughter.
Ridgwell and Christine started slightly.
"Are they spirits?" inquired Ridgwell, with a note of anxiety in his voice.
"No," vouchsafed the Lion, "only the four merry laughing little Lions from outside Westminster Abbey. They are the most ridiculous creatures in all London.
"Stop laughing," commanded the Lion.
"Hear me, Gamble, Grin, Grub, and Carry-on-Merry, and hearken attentively.
"Carry-on-Merry, have you all stopped laughing?" demanded the Lion.
"Yes, mighty Lal, we are simply grinning at present, which is as near to being serious as we can ever become. We are only waiting for your commands."
The Lion lifted up his mighty head and called, "Silence, Dolphins."
Immediately the curious sounds of humming ceased.
"The party I give is to be the most beautiful in the world, displaying wonders such as no Emperor can procure. Each of the Four Seasons shall appear before us, perfect in every way, to be followed by the Pavilion of Gold."
"It shall be done, O Lal."
"My guests will be all the stray children of London. Call them from every street and court, from out every by-way, alley, and lane."
"They are all here waiting, O Lal."
"Good. Also gather together all the lost and stray dogs of London, every single one who is wandering about to-night."
"They have all been summoned, O Lal."
"The Royalty present will include Queen Boadicea, King Richard I., King
Charles I., and St. George."
"Each has received a royal invitation, O Lal, and the Royal personages will all be pleased to attend."
"Each boy and girl is to be dressed in the most costly costume, according to their taste."
"All is prepared for them, Lal, and even as you desire, great splendour awaits them, and nothing will be lacking for their perfect enjoyment."
"Good; see that all is well done, and be ready to begin when I give the signal. You understand?"
"We understand," laughed the four merry Lions.
"We obey," squeaked the Dolphins.
"Only one thing remains to be done, to dress you, Ridgwell, and you,
Christine."
"What shall we be dressed in?" inquired Christine.
"Shut your eyes," said the Lion gently, "and stretch your hands over the lake of the fountain and take what the Dolphins give you. They know what you want, and their taste in such matters is exquisite."
The children shut their eyes and obeyed. The Lion leant over the rim of the lake and whispered to the Dolphins—
"Dress the boy like a prince, and the girl like a little queen. The richest stuff, mind, five guineas a yard. Give her a crown of the whitest daisies with shell pink petal tips for a crown. No jewels, no pearls, no, no.
Take, oh take the pearls away,
For they bring tears, the wise men say.
chanted the Lion in his rich double bass. "Give them both jewelled shoe buckles; give the boy jewelled levée buttons for his satin breeches, a plain gold circlet for his head. A train for the girl from her shoulders, of pure cloth of gold; bring it light, so that it does not weigh heavily. White satin for the boy, with richest figured velvet doublet set with cloth of gold. Hang round their necks now, with all its luminous jewels, the highest order in the world, the Order of Great Imagination," commanded the Lion, "For by the Order of Great Imagination they shall see things that no one else can see, they shall be able to listen to things that no one else shall be able to hear. They shall delight in the exquisiteness of things as no one else can delight in them, who has not received this order. For I declare to you all that a child who has this glittering order shall know of things that nobody else in the whole world shall know of. Everything is ready."
"Let us have Spring," commanded the Lion.
Immediately the words were uttered there came the soft beating of birds' wings over Ridgwell's head. The atmosphere instantly became fragrant with the myriad scents of wild flowers.
A mist seemed to swim for a second before their eyes, and, as it cleared away, they were standing together with many other children knee-deep in unending banks of bluebells and primroses.
They were in the midst of the most perfect wooded dell they had ever beheld.
Thousands of delicate flower-stems thrust their tiny spears from earth and emerald moss, blossoming with flowers before their wondering eyes.
The spiral hedges slowly shook out dappled clusters of white hawthorn.
The interlaced trees above them, amidst which all the birds in Christendom appeared to be carolling simultaneously, gently outspread friendly arms, overladen with powdered red and white may blossom.
Butterflies with gaily painted wings hovered tenderly overhead, and tiny silver thistledown balls sailed across the blue sky spaces, like little wayward balloons without anybody in charge of them.
"You can all pick as many flowers as you like," suggested the Lion. "Flowers were meant for the children to pick, so make yourselves nosegays, garlands, and crowns galore. There are no notices here to keep off the grass. You can also chase the butterflies if you like, but I warn you that you will never catch them. As a matter of fact that is the one thing I don't permit. Any butterfly with really nice feelings objects most decidedly when a pin is run through its body, as much as a happy fish hates to be caught upon a hook. I sympathise with both of them, and consider such practices ought to be stopped."
Ridgwell, well-nigh immersed in a bank of bluebells, listened in a semi-enchanted condition to the Lion's words of wisdom, and watched the brilliant-coloured butterflies chasing each other in the pearly spaces above him.
Christine, grasping a great yellow bunch of primroses in each hand, ceased picking flowers and watched the bright-eyed squirrels and rabbits gambolling everywhere around.
"Ridgie, have you noticed all the rabbits and squirrels are quite tame?"
"Of course they're tame," agreed the Lion, "Nobody here to hurt them; why, they will come and eat out of your hand."
"Why is that?" asked Ridgwell.
"No guns or traps," chuckled the Lion. "Any animal respectably brought up is indignant at the very thought of a gun or a trap; consequently they keep themselves to themselves, and seldom go out into society."
Ridgwell's gaze roamed over the lovely spring landscape, and rested upon the masses of flowers the other children were picking.
"Everything here is just as it ought to be, isn't it, Lal?"
"Every single thing," answered the Lion. "But it is going to change, you know, almost directly."
"Change?" echoed Ridgwell. "Why, Lal?"
The Pleasant-Faced Lion chuckled softly, and lifting his head, called out, "Summer."
Immediately the Lion said "Summer," everything around commenced to alter most strangely.
Banks of primroses became stretches of sparkling golden sands, and the great masses of bluebells, after swaying once or twice, dissolved themselves into the misty rippling waves of a summer sea.
Christine and Ridgwell, looking hopelessly perplexed, found they were each in a tiny boat with a pearly sail, skimming over shallow blue waters that sparkled like sapphires.
The sky over their heads had changed to the burning blue of a summer day. The air was filled with the sweet salt spray of the sea, which descended in delicious showers upon all of them.
"Have all the children got boats?" demanded the Lion.
"All," shrilled the Dolphins. "Their boats can't upset, Lal, and the waters are transparent, and shallow enough for them to fish up coloured shells, coral, and mother-of-pearl. There's a sunken treasure-ship half buried in the sands far upon the other side, Lal, if they sail for it."
"They'll all make for that safe enough," answered the Lion. "Push their boats off, Dolphins, and help them all to land upon the far shore."
The Dolphins, splashing the water into little white frothy waves, accompanied the little bobbing fleet of pearl-boats, and sang gaily as they swam alongside.
"Blue and gold on the summer sea,
Each little mast with a sail of pearl,
Each dipping boat holds a boy or girl,
A most enchanting argosy.
A ship one's longed for most perhaps
That cannot anyhow collapse.
We'll sail away to the golden strand,
And maybe discover No Man's Land;
Each one of us will get a peep
Into the wonders of the deep,
Dredging for shells of brilliant hue,
And discovering mermaids too.
Sing ho! for a galleon of Spanish gold,
With jewels and ivory in the hold.
What treasure we'll find upon the main!
What triumph when we sail home again!
The wonder of every lad and lass
Will be the booty we amass."
After a short but entrancing voyage, and even whilst Ridgwell and Christine stood with the other children waist-deep in the great carven hold of the sunken Spanish galleon, shovelling out golden doubloons and precious jewels, the sound of Lal's voice came across the water to them.
"Autumn, ahoy!" shouted Lal.
* * * * *
"Isn't it bewildering, Chris?" lamented Ridgwell. "Only a second ago we were enthroned in a castle of golden coins and precious stones, and now, without any sort of warning whatever, we are standing upon the top of a waggon-load of newly-mown hay."
"Yes, Ridgie, and look at Lal across there, laughing about it like anything."
"He certainly does play tricks with us, Chris. See, he is sending all the children racing across to draw our hay-cart with those ropes of acorns and leaves they are holding. Hullo!" broke off Ridgwell, "somebody is throwing things at me, and if they continue doing it I shall jolly well start throwing back again."
Christine looked up from the stack of loose hay surrounding her in the cart upon which they stood.
"Why, it's apples," announced Christine.
"Where?" inquired her brother.
"Look, Ridgie, overhead, hundreds of them hanging from every tree. We can reach them quite easily."
There could be no doubt about the matter. Rosy apples ripened by the sun dangled in clusters overhead, and gently fell down at the very moment when any one felt disposed to eat them.
Within easy reach grew trailing brambles smothered with ripened patches of fragrant blackberries.
The Pleasant-Faced Lion lifted up his voice and inquired if the company present desired anything better, at the season they were now passing through, than unlimited apples, blackberries, and hay.
"No," came a simultaneous chorus from all the children.
"Good," replied the Lion. "After you have all eaten as many apples and blackberries as you want, the battle of the new-mown hay will start. I shall be the umpire. If Ridgwell and Christine can throw enough hay from their big cart to bury all the children around them, they will have won. If the other children can throw up enough hay to completely smother the cart, Ridgwell and Christine will have lost. Now start," laughed the Lion.
"Look here, Chris, we must get to work, so here goes."
Whereupon Ridgwell seized a big armful of loose hay and awaited the attack.
"We have the advantage of height," observed Christine, as she hastily gathered as much hay as she could hold, "and you know, Ridgie, it is much easier for us to throw down than it is for them to throw up."
"How about numbers?" objected Ridgwell; "why, it's two against hundreds, Chris."
Then the battle commenced. That engagement was a memorable one amidst the scented hay. Not infrequently it happened that only a laughing eye, or the tip of a small nose was anywhere visible to show who might be the victor. Nobody will ever be quite sure who won, and it is doubtful if the point was ever decided.
Ridgwell, feeling very smothered up, was remarking to Christine in muffled tones that he thought they must have lost, when the voice of Lal announced "Winter."
"Don't you feel buried, Chris?"
"Yes," came the unexpected reply, "I am. I'm simply buried in furs and snow!"
"Furs and snow?" repeated Ridgwell incredulously. "What on earth do you mean, Chris? Oh, good gracious, Chris, I've got an extraordinary feeling I'm falling over a sort of precipice."
"So we are," rejoined Christine philosophically. "Don't you see, Ridgie, that Lal has changed everything again. We are on a toboggan sleigh, and just starting down no end of a steep hill."
Ridgwell rubbed the finely powdered snow out of his eyes.
An entrancing winter scene lay below them. Giant blue-green pine-trees were dotted about over the glistening snow which flashed with a million diamond sparkles. All the children were clad in beautiful furs.
Some of them were sliding and skating, others snowballing and tumbling in the snow.
"Hang on, Ridgwell and Christine," shouted the Lion, "your toboggan has started at a pretty good pace. Hold tight."