Part 5

“Oh, dance mostly,” said the fairy.

But the little lamb explained that he didn’t know how to dance.

“I will soon teach you,” said the fairy.

So she came every evening when her day’s work was done and showed the little lamb how to dance, and he soon learned to skip about quite nicely.

At last a day came when the fairy took him off to the party, but his mother made him promise to come back the next morning. She knew the ways of the fairies.

He enjoyed himself tremendously.

All the fairies admired him very much. They thought his coat so beautifully white and soft, they loved his little black nose and quaint woodeny legs. He gave them all rides on his back in turn (even the Fairy Queen had one), and when the time for dancing came he did very well indeed and astonished them all with his pretty steps. When he left, the Fairy Queen presented him with a garland of daisies. “They are fairy flowers,” she said. “They will never fade, and so long as you wear them you will remain young.”

When the lamb got home he had great tales to tell about his happy adventures, so that he became quite a celebrity, and every one made such a fuss of him that he got rather proud and silly, and after a very short time would hardly speak to his friends.

Of course this vexed them very much, and the wicked old rat who lived in the mill-pond and was always ready to do any one an ill turn, suggested a way to pay him out for his pride. “While he is asleep I will gnaw through his gay garland that he is so proud of,” she said, “and when he goes out walking he will lose it.” All of which happened just as she had planned. And so the foolish lamb lost his fairy garland and grew older like any other lamb.

His friend the fairy did not come to see him for some time. She was very busy helping on all the spring things, and had no time for visiting. When she did come again she was very disappointed to find that the lamb had grown into quite a good-sized sheep, fat and comfortable. His wool was no longer downy and white, and he had entirely forgotten how to dance.

“Where is your magic garland?” said the fairy. And he had to confess that he had lost it.

The fairy went back to her friends. She really did not feel that a big solemn sheep would be very welcome at their revels. But every year in early spring when the new lambs are born, their mothers tell them the story of the lamb that was invited to Fairyland, and they all go skipping about in the meadows practising their dancing steps.

Each of them hopes that he may one day find the magic garland, and never grow old and staid, and be able to go a-visiting to Fairyland. After all, it must be lying about somewhere, so if you find it, you’ll know what to do with it, won’t you? But be sure to give it to a lamb with a black nose. They’re so much the prettiest.

FOURTEEN

The Magic Umbrella

There was once a wizard who possessed a magic umbrella; and, being rather careless in his habits, he had the misfortune to leave it behind him in a small country town where he had had an appointment to meet a friend in the market-place at midnight. He left it standing against one of the wooden market stalls, and there it was found next morning by a farmer’s wife who had come into town to sell her butter and eggs.

“That’s a good, strong-looking umbrella,” she said to herself; “if no one comes to claim it I shall keep it.” No one made any inquiries, so she took possession of it, and when she went home in the evening, the umbrella went with her.

Now, as I said before, this was no ordinary umbrella, but was possessed of magic powers.

If you held it open in your hand and counted three and then stopped, you found yourself in your own house.

If you counted five, however, you found yourself where you most desired to be.

But if you counted up to seven, you were immediately carried away to the top of the nearest church spire.

Now of all this the farmer’s wife was quite unaware, and you shall hear what befell her in consequence.

It chanced to be very wet on the next market day, and when presently the rain began to drip upon her bonnet through the canvas roof of the stall, she was very glad to be able to put up the umbrella and shelter beneath it.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon and she had sold most of her eggs and butter.

A little boy came along and asked for three fresh eggs.

“There you are, my love,” she said. “The last three.”

She held the umbrella in one hand and with the other put the eggs into the boy’s basket.

“One, two, three,” she said. And instantly she found herself standing in the middle of her own pleasant kitchen, with her basket on her arm and the open umbrella still firmly held in her hand.

You can imagine how surprised and puzzled she was. She hadn’t the faintest idea how she had got there, but she decided to say nothing about it to any one.

When presently her husband came in for his tea he asked why she had come home so early.

“I had a bit of a headache,” she said. “I think the sun was too strong for me.”

The farmer gave a great guffaw. “Come, come, mother,” he said, “you must have been dreaming. There’s been no sun to-day, neither in town nor country.”

“Well, maybe it was the damp that got into my head,” said his wife. “I think I’ll go to bed and have a basin of hot gruel.” So she went to bed and had the hot gruel, and by the next morning she had almost forgotten all about her queer adventure.

Nothing more happened for some time. The weather was warm and sunny, and the umbrella stood unused in the corner of the kitchen.

But one day the farmer’s wife decided to go and see her daughter, who was married and lived in a village a few miles away. It was a very hot day and she thought it would be a good plan to take the umbrella with her to shade her from the sun.

After dinner she and her daughter went for a walk upon a neighbouring common, and when they had gone a little way they sat down for a rest on a warm dry bit of grass by the side of the road that ran across the heath, for they were hot and rather tired.

“What a lot of motor-cars there are on this road, to be sure,” said the farmer’s wife, who held the open umbrella over her head. “One, two, three, four, five.... I wish I was in one of them.” No sooner had she uttered these words than she found herself plumped right into the middle of the nearest car, in which were sitting an old lady and gentleman and a fat spaniel, all fast asleep.

You can imagine what a scene there was. The dog barked, the old lady and gentleman were furious.

“Stop, stop,” they cried to the chauffeur, who was driving on quite calmly and taking no notice at all of the noise going on behind him.

As for the farmer’s wife, she was so astonished that she could not say anything at all.

“What next?” stormed the old gentleman, foaming with rage. “What next, I should like to know? How dare you get into our car? How dare you, madam? What are we coming to? A pretty state of affairs when a man can’t go for a ride in his own car without being molested by impertinent strangers! Scandalous, scandalous! I shall report it to the police.”

The farmer’s wife had by this time managed to get out of the car, but she was so bewildered that she was still unable to speak, and long after the angry gentleman had driven off with his wife and his dog, she stood silent and motionless in the middle of the road with the umbrella in her hand, wide open, and with her mouth wide open too. Her daughter, who came hurrying up, was also very much astonished.

“What on earth made you do that, mother?” she said. “I couldn’t believe my own eyes.”

But her mother could only shake her head. She couldn’t make it out at all. Never, never had such an extraordinary thing befallen her.

“I am afraid I can’t be very well,” she said at last. “I think I’ll go and see the doctor to-morrow.” So the next day she went to see the doctor. It was rather showery and she took the umbrella again, for she had never thought of connecting it with the strange things which had occurred. The doctor felt her pulse and looked at her tongue.

“You’ve got a touch of Thingumabobitis,” he said. “You must be very careful. I’ll write you a few prescriptions. You must take a pill every three hours, and a pink powder every two hours, and a blue powder half an hour before every meal, and you must never on any account let your nose get cold. It’s not dangerous so long as you are careful. Come again next week.”

By this time the sun had come out, and as she was much taken up with wondering how she was going to keep her nose warm, the farmer’s wife forgot all about the umbrella. Next day, when she went to fetch it, it was gone. I don’t know what happened to it, nor who has it now. But let me give you a word of warning. If you come across a stray umbrella, pray be careful not to do any counting while you have it open in your hand. It wouldn’t be very pleasant to find yourself suddenly hanging from the top of the nearest church steeple, now would it?

FIFTEEN

The Fourth Adventure of the Rainbow Cat

By this time the Rainbow Cat was getting a little tired of travelling about, and decided that he would go home and have a good rest after his many exertions. But on the way back he had to pass through the Ever After country, and the people who lived there were most pressing in their request that he should spend a little time with them.

The Ever After country is inhabited by all the Fairy Tale and Nursery Rhyme people, who go to live there when their adventures are over.

Cinderella and her prince have a beautiful castle there, where the glass slipper is kept on a red velvet cushion in a little gilt cabinet, and shown to distinguished visitors. Cinderella never had another pair; she said they were very uncomfortable, and of course she was always afraid some one might tread on her toes.

Her two disagreeable sisters have a little house of their own. They have taken to gardening, and keep bees and chickens, and are altogether immensely improved, so that everybody is quite fond of them.

They are rather sensitive about their past, and are both, alas! a little lame, because, as you will remember, they cut pieces off their feet in order to make them smaller.

Snow-White, too, lives in a castle with her husband. The seven dwarfs have a fine carpenter’s shop on the estate, where they are kept very busy indeed.

They make the most lovely little chairs and tables for Snow-White’s children, and do most of the work of that kind required by the dwellers in the Ever After land.

Red-Riding-Hood and her grandmother have a pretty cottage close to that of Cinderella’s sisters. Red-Riding-Hood often runs in to have a chat with them, and they are very kind about sending in honey and eggs for the old lady.

Of course, there are many, many more people. Jack the Giant-Killer, who has grown rather fat and lazy, but loves to talk about all his great fights; Little Miss Muffet, who is still a bit afraid of spiders; Boy Blue, Mother Hubbard, Aladdin--it would take me all day to mention half of them, but they are all there, not one is missing.

The Rainbow Cat stayed with Fatima, Bluebeard’s last wife, who lives with the two brothers who saved her life by their valour.

Poor Fatima has never quite got over the dreadful shock she had when she discovered the other wives all hanging up, and she can’t so much as bear the sight of a bunch of keys.

As usual, the Rainbow Cat was most kindly welcomed and was introduced to all the important people in the place.

They are always delighted to see strangers, as sometimes they feel that things are a little dull after the exciting adventures many of them have been through.

On the third day after his arrival he was invited to a great banquet at the palace of the Queen of Hearts.

It was a most wonderful banquet.

The Rainbow Cat wore his best bow, his dancing-shoes, and the gold collar which the giantess had given him. He took his mandolin with him; it had been most useful to him on several occasions, and it seemed a pity to leave it behind.

He met a number of friends at the party.

Puss-in-Boots, for instance, and the Pussy-cat who went to London to visit the Queen.

Dick Whittington’s cat was there too, but he gave himself great airs. It seems it wasn’t really quite certain whether he was a fairy-tale cat at all. Some people thought he was real.

It was silly of him to be so stuck-up about it, but it only amused the Rainbow Cat.

They were about half-way through the banquet when there was a slight pause. The meat course was finished, and everybody was waiting for the sweets. At that moment a servant came quietly in and whispered to the Queen. She became deadly pale, and half rose in her seat.

“What is the matter, your Majesty?” said the Rainbow Cat, who sat in the place of honour at her right hand.

“He’s done it again,” said the Queen in a low, horrified whisper, sinking weakly down again into her chair.

“Who has done what?” said the Rainbow Cat.

“The Knave--stolen the tarts!” said the Queen with an agonised look. “They’re nowhere to be found. It’s all my fault. He begged so hard to be taken on again that I gave him another chance. Oh! why did I trust him?”

“Isn’t there anything else?” asked the Rainbow Cat.

“Nothing ready,” replied the Queen. “You see, they’re very special tarts. I make them myself. Every one thinks so much of them. What shall I do?”

“Don’t worry,” said the Rainbow Cat. “Send round to all the pastry-cooks’ for anything they have ready, and meanwhile I’ll sing a song to fill up the time.”

The Queen was much relieved at this suggestion, and gave orders that messengers should be dispatched immediately to buy up all the available tarts in the place.

Meanwhile the Master of Ceremonies was bidden to announce that their distinguished visitor, the Rainbow Cat, had kindly promised to sing a song, and wished to know whether the guests would like to hear it at this moment or later on.

This was a very clever idea, for of course people were bound in politeness to say they wished to hear the song immediately.

Thereupon the Rainbow Cat took his mandolin and prepared to sing, the whole company being requested to join in the chorus after each verse.

They were all delighted with this suggestion, and they all sang, whether they had any voice or not.

They enjoyed it so much that they quite forgot that they hadn’t finished the banquet. At least they _almost_ forgot.

Here is the song:

THE RHYME OF THE GNOME WITH A SCOLDING WIFE

Once upon a time, When guinea-pigs had tails, And people talked in rhyme, And rivers ran on rails, There lived a little gnome Who’d such a scolding wife, At last he ran away from home, He couldn’t stand the life.

_Chorus._ There lived a little gnome, etc.

She scolded all day long From morning until night, And she was never wrong And he was never right. Oh! she could bake and bile, And she could clean and mend, But since she scolded all the while, He left her in the end.

_Chorus._ Oh! she could bake and bile, etc.

He thought he’d found a way At last to be at peace, But still, to his dismay, His troubles did not cease. He didn’t like his meals, His washing wasn’t right, His socks were always out at heels, His shirts a fearful sight.

_Chorus._ He didn’t like his meals, etc.

By the end of the third verse the Queen was looking very strained and anxious, and the Rainbow Cat himself was beginning to feel rather nervous. His song had only four verses, and he wasn’t at all sure that he would be asked to sing another. He was afraid that people would remember their unfinished dinner as soon as he stopped.

So he began the fourth verse very slowly. But before he had got half-way through, he saw three servants standing between the curtains of the great doorway of the banqueting hall with enormous golden dishes piled up with most magnificent-looking tarts.

“My tarts,” he heard the Queen murmur in an excited voice, and then he knew that everything was well.

So he finished his song at a great pace, and the last chorus was sung with much enthusiasm, for the other guests had also seen the waiting tarts, and were eager to begin on them.

This is the last verse of his song:

“Assuredly,” thought he, “Her temper is a curse, And yet it seems to me That this is rather worse.” So home he went once more In philosophic mood, And though his wife still vexed him sore, _He did enjoy his food_.

_Chorus._ So home he went once more, etc.

The song was very much applauded, and every one then fell upon the tarts with an appetite which the slight delay had pleasantly renewed.

It turned out afterwards that it was all a mistake about the Knave.

The head cook had put the tarts away on the top shelf of the larder for safety. But he was a poet as well as a cook, and just before the moment arrived when the tarts should have been served up, a perfectly beautiful little verse came into his head, and he rushed off to a quiet spot to write it down, quite confident that the under-cook would be able to look after the rest of the banquet.

And that’s how it came about that suspicion fell upon the poor Knave; for when the tarts could not be found, every one naturally supposed that he had stolen them again.

When the cook had written down his verse and made a few little improvements in it, he returned to the kitchen and found everything in an uproar because of the missing tarts.

He arrived in the nick of time, for the messengers were returning almost empty-handed from the pastry-cooks’ shops. They had made very little pastry that day because they knew that every one would be at the banquet and that they would have no sale for their wares.

Of course, later on, the cook had to give an explanation of his carelessness, and he was removed from his position.

But as his verses were even better than his dishes, he was made Court Poet instead, and he liked that much better, though he occasionally lent a hand in the kitchen when they were very busy.

The Queen was most grateful to the Rainbow Cat for his timely help; and every year, on his birthday, she sent him a box of tarts made by her own hands especially for him.

He stayed only a day or two in the Ever After land after the banquet. Then he packed up his belongings, bade good-bye to all his kind friends, and set off for his home.

He was glad to be back in his own little house, and delighted all his friends with his account of his travels.

But he had no intention of settling down for ever, and I hope to be able some day to tell you more of the adventures that befell him upon his further journeyings.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.