Chapter 2

'I'll try,' said Toby, and he coughed.

The Flamp took down one paw from its desert of face and peered out. Then he sprang to his feet and rubbed his heavy, watery, blue eyes in blank astonishment. Tilsa and Tobene did not move. They stood still, gazing into the Flamp's great, mournful face, now wrinkled up with surprise and excitement.

Then the Flamp spoke--'What?' he said, 'kids? Real kids? Flesh-and-blood kids? Human, rollicking, kind-hearted kids?'

'We are real children,' Tilsa replied at length, 'if that is what you mean, and, oh, we are so glad to have found you! The hedgehog's compass told us to come this way, or we should never have reached you at all.'

'Then you set out intending to find me?' said the Flamp. 'Well, that is a good one. How is it you're not scared, like all the rest of them?'

'I don't know,' said Tilsa. 'I can't think. But we weren't, were we, Toby?'

'No,' said Tobene.

'And what made you come?' the Flamp asked.

'We--we--' Tilsa faltered. 'Well, sir, we thought you wanted sympathy, like Alison did. And so we came to--to try and give you some.'

'And so I do,' the Flamp gasped out. 'And so I do,' and he lifted up his right paw, and brushed it across his eyes. 'You see, it's precious little of it I get. It's very hard, I can assure you, my dears, to be the last of one's race. Why, the land was full of Flamps once, and a fellow need never be in want of company, but now--now they're all dead, all but me, and I'm not long for this life.' The Flamp sighed and dropped a tear, which splashed heavily.

Tilsa felt very sorry. 'Poor--' she began to say, but stopped abruptly. She was intending to say 'Poor Flamp,' but that now seemed to her too familiar; so she altered it to 'Poor gentleman!' although when the word was out, it seemed equally unsuitable.

Tobene said nothing aloud, but nudged Tilsa and whispered, 'Aren't you going to try throwing your arms round him, Tilsa? It's time, isn't it?'

'Hush!' said Tilsa severely.

The Flamp went on: 'And I doubt if any one is keener on company than I am. Over in the city yonder, you know, they have a season called Christmas, when every one is supposed to be friends with every one else; and I thought to myself, That's the time for me. I won't ask for much, I thought, but if just one night in the year they'll look pleased to see me, and say, 'How do?' why I'll be very grateful to them and a deal happier during the months that follow. It wasn't much to ask, was it? But I suppose I didn't go to work the right way, or perhaps I had two legs too many. Anyway, they misunderstood me: thought I'd come to do them harm or something, and tried shooting me and poisoning me and barricading themselves in. Wouldn't even give me a moment's sight of a kid's face. I didn't try any other night. It seemed to me that if at a season of goodwill they would behave like that, my chances at an ordinary time would be less than nothing. But men can't understand animals. Children can, though they're apt to grow out of it. Thank goodness, there's _some_ children that stay childlike to the end, however old they may be.' He brushed his paw across his eyes again.

Soon he went on: 'So I've had to live alone, with no company but my own voice. Maybe you heard me singing as you came. It wasn't much of a song, I admit, for elegance of rhyme and metre don't seem to come easy, but a song like that is more comfort than you'd believe.' He paused again.

Then he turned radiantly to his visitors. 'And you've trudged all the way from the city just to be kind to me, have you? Well, that is good of you! Bless your hearts, no one knows how much a deed like that means. Why, it's as good as smush even to know that any one is thinking of you kindly, let alone doing things. I haven't felt so cheery and comfortable for years. But you must be hungry. Now tell me what you would like to eat and I'll try and get it for you, and afterwards you must tell me all about yourselves.'

Tilsa looked at Tobene, and Tobene at Tilsa.

Then Tobene spoke to the Flamp for the first time. 'You said just now that something was as good as smush. Please, what is smush? because if it's something to eat, I should like that.'

The Flamp laughed all over: 'Splendid,' he cried, 'splendid! Something to eat? I should rather think it is. You couldn't have made a better choice. You shall have smush. Sit down here while I get it ready.'

Tilsa and Tobene sat down, and the Flamp retreated farther into the cave. There was a noise of pots and pans.

'Isn't he a whopper?' said Tobene.

'Tremendous,' said Tilsa. 'And what a dear old thing!'

'Yes,' Tobene continued, 'and what a set of donkeys those people at Ule have been all these years. Why, he's as jolly as Alison, in a different way. Do you think he'll give us a ride, Tilsa?'

'Of course he will,' said a deep voice above them. 'But you must eat some smush first,' and looking up, they saw the Flamp on his hind legs, towering into the roof of the cave, and in his paws a large dish and some plates and spoons. 'Now then,' he said, 'eat as much as you can.'

(All that the historian can do towards a description of smush is to say that its colour is pink, and its taste quite indescribable but blessed in the highest degree. When asked about it afterwards, Tilsa and Tobene, even to their old age, would become purple and inarticulate with enthusiasm. Perhaps if each of you thinks of all the most delicious things you have ever eaten, you will come a little nearer to an idea of what smush is like.)

After they had finished, Tilsa told the Flamp all about herself, and Tobene, and old Alison, and her grandfather the Liglid of Ule.

'I expect,' she said, 'they are looking for us now. And I think, sir, if you don't mind, it would be better if you were to go back with us, and then we could let everybody see how kind and gentle you are, and grandpapa won't go on trying to circumvent you.'

'Circumvent?' said the Flamp. 'What's that?'

'I don't know what it means,' said Tilsa, 'except that it's something horrid. And someone named Bill's going to do it.'

'All right,' said the Flamp, 'we will go back together, and the sooner the better, I think, or that dear old Alison of yours will be nervous. Although I should like to keep you here, you know. But you'll promise to come again, won't you, and stay a long time?'

'O yes,' cried Tilsa and Tobene together, 'we should just think we will!'

IX

That night the two children slept soundly in a corner of the cave, while the Flamp sat by and watched them. In the morning, after a breakfast of smush, they climbed on the monster's back and started for the city at a good swinging pace.

'It was like riding on a cloud,' said Tobene afterwards: 'so high up.'

They were well within sight of Ule when--'Look,' said Tobene suddenly, pointing in the direction of a speck on the white road, 'what's that?'

'It moves,' said Tilsa. 'It's a person.'

'We'll soon see what it is,' the Flamp grunted, lengthening his stride. The earth shook as his feet beat upon it.

As they came nearer and nearer, the children saw that the object was a woman. For a moment she stood upright, looking all ways at once as though panic-stricken, and then she suddenly unfurled a green umbrella and sank behind it.

'Why, it's Alison,' cried Tobene. 'Hurrah!'

'Stop, stop!' cried Tilsa to the Flamp. 'Please don't frighten dear old Alison. Let us go down and run to her.'

The Flamp at once stopped and lay on his side, and the children slipped to the ground and scampered as fast as they could towards their nurse. The umbrella did not move. As they drew close they heard the old lady's voice in beseeching tones: 'Please, Mr. Flamp, they're the sweetest children in the world, and if you've swallowed them, you mountaineous wretch you, you may as well swallow me too, for all there's left for me to live for! Besides, I'm their nurse, and I might be useful to them down inside. Ooh! Ooh! Please, Mr. Flamp, they're the sweetest children in the world, and if you've swallowed them, you mountaineous wretch you, you----'

'Alison, dear, it's all right,' Tilsa interrupted, skipping up and pushing the umbrella aside. 'We're as safe and happy as ever we were.'

Alison stared first at one and then at the other of her truant charges. Then--'Well?' she almost screamed, 'is it really you, my dearies?'

'Really!' exclaimed both children at once, and there was such hugging as the plain of Ule had never before seen.

Soon Alison furled her umbrella and pointed to the Flamp, who was smiling and chuckling and soliloquising in the distance.

('It's as good as smush to see this,' he was saying.)

'Is that him?' Alison inquired.

'Yes,' said Tilsa, 'and he's such a dear, you can't think.'

'Yes, come along and be introduced,' said Tobene, and without a word Alison went, being quite assured that if the creature had not harmed her two pets it would not harm her.

'Mr. Flamp,' said Tobene, 'I want to introduce you to this lady, our nurse Alison. She's the best nurse in the world. You ought to get her to tuck you up at night.'

'Tuck _me_ up?' cried the Flamp, and--'Tuck _that_ up?' cried Alison, both together, and they all laughed, and at once Alison was at home and comfortable.

They went forward to the city, chatting gaily, but when the wall was reached, the gates were found to be barricaded. No sound of life was audible, no moving thing to be seen.

'As I expected,' said the Flamp sadly. 'They heard me coming, and as usual have locked themselves in. What's to be done?'

'The best course,' remarked old Alison, who was always a wonderful manager, whether with the cold mutton or a child in a temper, 'the best course is to wait. You lie down here, Mr. Flamp, and make as little noise breathing as you can; and you, Tilsa, darling, take this pencil and paper and write a note to your grandfather, to be slipped under the gate. They'll venture out soon and find it.'

The Flamp and Tilsa did as they were bid. This was Tilsa's note to the Liglid:--

'MY DEAR GRANDPAPA--There is no need to be frightened. Alison and Toby and me are just outside the gates all safe with the Flamp, who is really and truly the sweetest creature you ever saw. He doesn't want to hurt this city at all, he only wants simpithy like I said he did. If you open the gate and tell the people this you can see for yourself how kind and gentle he is, and that there isn't any need of sircumventing him. So please open the gate quickly. Your affectionate grandchild,

TILSA.

The paper was folded and addressed to 'His Excellency the Liglid of Ule,' and Tobene slipped it under the gate. Then the little party sat down to wait. Old Alison took out her knitting, and as she worked, told the others of her adventures in search of them. 'I had to come alone,' she said: 'every one else was frightened.'

X

One hour passed, two hours, three hours, and then a flag of truce appeared above the ramparts.

'Here, Mr. Flamp,' said Alison, 'get up and wave this in reply'; and she gave her handkerchief to the Flamp.

He mounted slowly on his hind feet, and, stepping to the wall, waved the handkerchief over it. A few minutes went by, and then the Liglid's scared face appeared at a loophole. Seeing Tilsa, Tobene, and Alison sitting comfortably in the shade cast by the Flamp's huge body, he seemed to be reassured.

'Alison,' he called out, 'are those really the children?'

'No doubt of it, sir,' said Alison.

'Then wait a little longer,' said the Liglid as he vanished.

He went at once to the Council Chamber and summoned a meeting of the wise men of Ule. 'Apparently,' he said, 'we have misjudged this creature for many years; but our duty now is simple: to draw up as quickly as may be an address of welcome to our eccentric visitor.'

An hour later, a procession of the men of eminence of the city, followed by the inhabitants, marched along the streets to the northern gate. At the Liglid's word of command, the barricades were removed and the gate flung open.

Tilsa and Tobene at once ran to their grandfather and kissed him, while Alison dropped a curtsey. The Flamp stood up and bowed as gracefully as he could, and the Liglid returned the salute, not without some shaking in the knees.

In faltering tones, which afterwards grew more steady, he begged of the Flamp the 'honour of his attention for a few moments,' and forthwith read the address of welcome. It was flowery and extravagant in style, and contained not a few statements which sent a spasm across the Flamp's wide expanse of face, such as might be caused by an attempt to suppress laughter.

At the end, the Flamp bowed again and laid a massive paw upon his heart. Then he replied. He began by thanking the Liglid for his kind welcome, continued with the expression of his determination to do in the future all that he could for the good of the city, and ended with a eulogy of Tilsa and Tobene.

'They are, if I may use the word,' he said feelingly, 'kids which any city should be proud of. And to be the grandfather of such bricks ought to be as good as smush and a perpetual delight. And their nurse, ma'am Alison here, is an old lady as is worthy of them.'

The crowd cheered these remarks again and again, and Tilsa and Tobene, who were not accustomed to such publicity, hardly knew where to look. As for old Alison, she curtseyed and went on with her knitting. 'Children,' she said to herself, 'that travel in search of Flamps wear out their stockings. Flattery or no flattery, new stockings must be made.'

Other speeches followed, for Ule was famous for its oratory, the best being from a young statesman who made the admirable suggestion that in commemoration of this auspicious day, a new order of merit should be established, called the Order of the Friends of the Flamp, membership to be conferred upon all persons conspicuous for spontaneous acts of kindness. Further, he proposed that the first persons to add the letters F.F., signifying Friend of the Flamp, to their names, should be Tilsa, Tobene, and old Alison. The project was received with the wildest enthusiasm, and the order was then and there founded. And to the end of the history of Ule, no honour was esteemed more highly by the citizens than the simple affix F.F.

The formal part of the proceedings being finished, the Liglid proclaimed the day a general holiday and in the name of the city invited the Flamp to a grand banquet. Afterwards came sports of all kinds on the plain, in which the Flamp took part, carrying enormous loads of children up and down at a hand gallop, until the Commissioner of Works begged him to move more slowly, owing to the danger caused to the public buildings of Ule by the tremor of the earth. Never in the memory of the oldest inhabitant had such a day of jollification and excitement been spent.

Of course the Flamp was the chief attraction, but Tilsa and Tobene and old Alison were very considerable lions too, and a hundred times they told the story of their adventures. Presuming on his relationship to the explorers, the Liglid, it must be confessed, endeavoured to take to himself some credit for the proceedings, but it is doubtful if he was believed.

One worthy deed, however, he did perform: he publicly burned the Bill for the Circumvention of the Flamp, amid deafening applause.

At last, late in the evening, the Flamp said good-bye, promising to come again soon, and swung off across the plain, the people waving farewell to him from the city wall. And as he moved along, he chanted to himself a new song, which, although not much better in rhyme and metre, was vastly more cheerful than his old dirge. This was the first line of it:

'_O life, I think, is a jolly good thing._'

XI

There is no space to tell a thousandth part of the benefits conferred by the Flamp upon the city which once had used him so ill. Suffice it to say, that henceforward the Flamp became the guardian of Ule.

A line of communication was set up between his cave and the city, and when wanted he was signalled for; then at a rush he would cross the plain, ready for any duty.

He helped the people of Ule in countless ways, from overwhelming the attacking force of the King of Unna, without the loss of a single man in the defending army, to lying on the plain in the heat of summer and casting a shadow in which picnic parties might have lunch.

Sometimes the Flamp came when the signal had not been set in motion; and then it was known that he was again in need of sympathy, and the children of the city, headed by Tilsa and Tobene, would run out into the plain to meet him and join in a game, or if it was at night, and he came within the walls, the house-holders would join in the song of welcome which the Poet Laureate of Ule had written for such occasions. And soon the Flamp would return to the mountains happy again.

The Christmas following the Understanding of the Flamp (as the establishment of these new relations was called) was a time of good fellowship, such as no Ulian had dreamed to be possible. Christmas at last really was Christmas. The Flamp as of old came down at evening, but this year no doors were barred, no blinds were drawn; instead he passed from house to house throughout the city, looking in at the upper windows and receiving a welcome at each, and sometimes a piece of plum-cake, sometimes a packet of sweets, all of which passed down his huge red throat. Is it necessary to say that his longest stay was at the nursery window of the Liglid's house?

In fact Tilsa and Tobene, as you may imagine, were always the Flamp's favourites, and every summer it was they, and they alone, who were honoured by an invitation to stay for a fortnight in the Blue Mountains, where they had such a holiday as falls to the lot of few children.

So did Ule, under the Flampian influence, become one of the happiest spots in the world, and strangers poured into the city every day to learn the secret of contentment.

The Ameliorator

_TO "EVERSLEY" AND ALL WITHIN IT_

I

THE CITY OF BIRDS

Once upon a time there was a city where the good people were under the protection of singing-birds of all kinds: nightingales, thrushes, blackbirds, robins, chaffinches, linnets. As you passed through the streets the song of one at least of these little fellows was certain to strike pleasantly on the ear; for they would perch on the window-sills, or in the branches of the trees before the houses, and fling out their glad notes.

No money could buy the birds. It mattered not how rich a man was, if he were not merry at heart no bird's voice could be his to gladden the hours with song.

Fugitives fleeing across the wide plain at night would, once within the gates of the city, pause a moment with raised finger, listening breathlessly. Then the still air would be filled with beautiful, consoling music, and 'Hark,' they would say, 'the nightingale! A good man lives close by. Let us knock and ask protection.' And travellers hearing a blackbird whistling gaily before a hostelry would know that within doors was brave cheer and jocund company.

Most of the children in the city had each a bird friend, and it was a sad day when the wings spread and the songster flew away, for that meant that in the heart of the child all was not well. Always, however, when the smiles came back, back came also the little feathered companion.

II

THE FOUR CHILDREN

Now this story is about four children in the city who were friends of the birds: Bertram and Beryl, Bobus and Aline. They were for the most part good children, but now and again they made up their little minds that they knew better than anybody else what was the best thing for them; and as it generally happened that their elders refused to take the same view, there came occasionally into their lives intervals of unhappiness when the whole world was most plainly doing its best to spoil their fun and treat them altogether badly. At least so it seemed in the eyes of Bertram and Beryl, Bobus and Aline.

And to those who had the care of Bertram and Beryl, Bobus and Aline, it was apparent one Monday evening that such an interval was about to begin. Bertram's governess had the greatest difficulty in persuading that all-knowing boy that lessons were in the least desirable; Beryl's mother having refused to buy her a new doll, and thus bring her store of dolls from fifteen to sixteen, could induce Beryl to fall in with no plans whatever; and the barometers of Bobus and Aline were unmistakably at 'Set Sulks,' because they too wanted something which was not good for them. Thus, one Monday evening, was it with Bertram and Beryl, Bobus and Aline.

III

THE NEW HOUSE

On the Tuesday morning that followed, the inhabitants of the City of Birds, when they came downstairs and began the business of the day, were astonished to find a new shop in the Market Square; astonished, because no one could remember either what the house was like before, or who had then lived in it, or indeed that there had been a house there at all--not even the house-agent, who felt more than a little annoyed in consequence, deeming himself defrauded of his just fees.

There, however, stood the house, leaving no room for doubt as to its existence. There it stood, spick and span, with white window-curtains tied up with red ribbons, and rows of flower-pots on the sills, and a shining brass handle and knocker on the door, and a dark blind in the shop window through which, howsoever noses might be flattened against the glass, nothing could be seen. Hanging out over the pavement was a quaint sign-board bearing the words

'THE AMELIORATOR.'

And, to crown all, in the branches of the silver birch before the house a thrush was singing, while the swallows were already busy under the gable.

IV

THE BUSINESS CARD

At seven o'clock on the same morning, Bertram awoke. Had any observers been present they would have seen him turn over in bed, push his fists into the air and fight the sunshine which was streaming through the window, and then open his eyes and begin to remember where he was. Then they might have seen him yawn to a greater extent than so small a boy would seem to be capable of. It was when Bertram's waking operations had reached this stage that he remembered what had happened last night: he had been naughty and had gone to bed early in consequence. But he wasn't in the least sorry for it, not he, and his governess was a beast. These were his sentiments as he began to dress. 'I shan't wash this morning,' he said to himself, 'just to spite them.'

It was just as he was turning to leave the room that Bertram caught sight of something white on the floor underneath the window. Picking it up, he saw that it was a card--a business card--which certainly was not there last night. 'It must have blown in,' he thought, and forthwith began to read it. This is what he read:--

THE AMELIORATOR

begs to inform the Children of the City of Birds that he has set up in Business in their midst, and is ready (although not eager) for their custom.

SAD FACES BRIGHTENED WITH THE UTMOST DESPATCH. TEARS DRIED. DISAPPOINTMENTS RELIEVED. SORROWS TURNED TO PLEASURES. BAD GOVERNESSES PUNISHED. HARD LESSONS MADE EASY. UNREASONABLE PARENTS BROUGHT TO THEIR SENSES. TEMPER REPAIRING IN ALL ITS BRANCHES.

_Business Hours_--When you wish.

TERMS EASY.

THE AMELIORATOR, Market Square, City of Birds.