CHAPTER VII.

THE CASTLE OF THE SOUTH WIND

The fact that the children were now so big helped them greatly on their journey; but they had to walk, as they were far too large and cumbersome to fly, their gauze wings would never carry them.

“Really, I’m very grateful to Mr. Atom,” said Coppertop; “what a wonderful little person he is.”

“Yes, it isn’t always size that counts,” came a tiny voice from a cloud near by, which she instantly recognised as belonging to Mr. Atom.

“Why, I believe he’s up here, too!” she cried.

“Quite right, my dear,” continued the small voice. “You see, I’m pretty well everywhere.”

“So am I,” replied Coppertop, who had mistaken his meaning, “except in India! Of course I love India terrifikly, because I’ve been there, and it’s nearly always warm and sunny; but people get so dried up--I know Mummie and Daddy do!”

“That’s why you call her Mummie, I suppose, instead of Mother?” interrupted Mr. Atom, with the sound of a smile in his voice.

“Not at all,” replied Coppertop; “I’ve always called her Mummie. But oh, I’m always well in Australia--it’s simply glorious! The paddocks and the scrumptious little gardens full of flowers; the birds--I know all their names--and the air smells so wonderful, it feels just like music when you breathe it.”

“Ah, yes, precisely,” said Mr. Atom.

“It makes me want to cry when I think of it. I believe I’m going to be homesick!” At this Tibbs and Kiddiwee commenced to laugh.

“You’re both very horrid!” said Coppertop, and she pouted her lips and waited for them to say something nice. But boys never will, when you want them to.

“Come along,” was all the response she got from Tibbs, but Kiddiwee squeezed her hand.

So they continued their tramp to the Castle of the South Wind.

And now they found themselves walking on thick ice across a frozen ocean, stepping over mountainous icebergs which shone and glittered like green diamonds in the soft sunlight. It was the most exciting and amusing part of the whole trip, so far, and Coppertop thoroughly enjoyed it.

“What a fine story all this would make! I think I’ll try and write it some day,” she said.

As she was speaking, a brilliant bluish light lit up the sky in front of them. From the centre of this light rose slowly a widening circle of flame, from which shot out jets of rainbow-coloured fire.

The beauty of this light took away the children’s breath, and they could only gaze in wonder and amazement at the sight.

Slowly the light faded, and where it had been they beheld a towering Castle built of glistening blocks of ice.

“Come along! Let us see if the South Wind is in” cried Tibbs.

But before the giant children had gone far towards the iceberg gateway, a great voice, like the sound of a hurricane, cried: “Who dares to enter my thawless Castle, and tread the icy cloisters of my hall? Who wakes me rudely from my slumber?”

The children were too awed to speak, and the mighty voice continued:

“Summer is at hand! and she and I have quarrelled since the world began. Why do you waken me at such a time? ’Tis I who rule the wintry southern world, holding it tight within my icy grasp. I scatter with a lavish hand the jewels of frost! I make the rosy cheeks of children glow! And yet I can be cruel! I can be cruel!”

“I wonder if he has finished the recitation? These winds are so long-winded,” whispered Tibbs to Coppertop.

“Oh, do be careful what you say! He’s annoyed already!” she said warningly.

“Pooh! Think I’m afraid of a puff of wind!”

“Please be quiet!” pleaded his sister. “You know we’ve come to ask a favour.”

Just then an icy gust, like a huge hand, shot forth and touched Tibbs on the hands and feet. Instantly he howled with pain and tried to warm his frost-bitten fingers by holding them in his mouth, whilst he hopped first on one foot and then on the other.

“I was only saying ‘How-do-you-do!’” laughed the mighty voice of the South Wind. “Won’t you shake hands?”

But Tibbs had had enough.

“You have no manners,” continued the South Wind, “although you are so big. What has She-of-the-sunset-hair to say?”

“That’s you, Cece,” said Kiddiwee, giving her a nudge.

“Oh, we’re very sorry you think us rude,” stammered Coppertop, colouring.

“What is your name?” asked the South Wind.

“It’s Anagusta Celia Sinclair, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Anagusta.”

“Oh, please don’t call me Anagusta! I hate it!” cried Coppertop, quite forgetting to whom she was speaking.

“Softly, softly!” chuckled the South Wind, in quite a gentle-breeze mood. “If you get so hot, you’ll melt my Palace. Why have you honoured me with this visit?” he asked.

“He means what are we here for,” whispered Tibbs to Coppertop.

“Oh, dear! It’s so hard to explain. You see, Mummie and Daddy are coming home from India to-day--and it’s the first of December.”

“How I hate that name!” grumbled the South Wind to himself.

“And--and it should be a fine day, but it isn’t--it’s a horrid July day!”

“You are ungrateful!” reproved the South Wind.

“You have much to thank the dull July days for. They soften the ground, and supply it with moisture to feed the coming spring-time crops.”

“Yes. But it shouldn’t be July in December, should it?”

“Er--well, no! Perhaps not! I know my winter days do stray at times.”

“Oh, please DO call it back!” pleaded Coppertop. “And tell us where to find the December day in its place.”

“Very well, I’ll call back my July day,” consented the South Wind. “But I can do no more. I’ll have nothing to do with December. I loathe it!”

“Oh, but then there will be no day at all for them to arrive on--and that will be worse than ever. How awfully puzzling it all is!” cried Coppertop.