As a lesson in fear, the stories were a failure.
“I don’t know what we can do about it,” Brother Ubald said to his brothers, “except watch him carefully.”
But try to watch a young fairy lad with wings on him, when the sun is shining through the newly unfurled baby leaves of a beech tree, showing up the silver halos around the edges, and when bluebells flood the ground. The dwarfs found it impossible to keep Felix indoors. Luckily, he never flew far; mostly he sat on a branch or a flower, rocking himself and gazing into the sun.
“He is a creature of light,” said Brother Ubald. “He cannot live in dark confinement, like we do. We must let him go, as long as he returns at night.”
It was now Brother Botolph’s turn to see the most of Felix. He made him a little spade and rake and gave him a tiny plot of land to work in.
Felix delighted in turning up the earth and encountering fellow creatures.
“Hullo,” he greeted an earwig, but the earwig was deaf and went on his way without speaking.
“Don’t talk to strangers,” Brother Botolph warned. “It isn’t nice.”
Felix dug again, and a fat rainworm waddled out, grumpy at having been disturbed.
“Good morning,” said Felix with his sunny smile.
“Not at all.” And the rainworm wriggled off.
“Don’t talk to rainworms,” advised Brother Botolph. “Vulgar creatures. You’ll only learn bad manners from them. Stay near me.”
But Felix was too restless to do that. He flew to a low branch of the oak tree and almost landed on a green caterpillar, the exact color of the leaf. “How do you do?” he asked.
“I do as I please,” mumbled the caterpillar with his mouth full.
“You see?” Brother Botolph pointed out. “It only creates unpleasantness to mix with strangers; stay here.”
But that Felix could not do. The itch in his wings was even greater than the itch in Mr. Squirrel’s legs. For the first time in his life he felt sad. He did not know why. He did not know that he was longing for a playmate, someone as young and eager for adventures as he was himself. No one had time for him—no one at all. The dwarfs were preoccupied. The garden had to be planted, the house had to be spring-cleaned, and the books had to be dusted (Brother Ubald had to do the last himself, or he’d never know where to find the ones he wanted).
And so Felix began to roam the forest in search of a friend. At any other time there would have been many to bid him welcome, but in spring—well, it could wait, couldn’t it? Mamma Squirrel did invite him into her hole, but what with tending the babies and scolding Scarlet and Pinkie there was little chance for conversation. She was kind, however. She cracked some nuts for him and made him taste some of her acorn soup. She also let him hold the triplets and give them their bottle.
“Feeding is an important thing,” she said, tenderly watching the little moving jaws. “No one would live, if he was not fed.” She pondered this for a moment. “Think of all the meals, all over the world …” she said with awe.
Felix soon left. The hole was too narrow and dark, and he craved the sunlight. He went to look for it, flying between the smooth gray stems of beech trees flecked by the green light which filtered through the leaves. He came to an open space where the sun broke through like a golden shower. In its warmth many flowers had opened their cups and were sending forth a concert of odors. Vines curled their tendrils around them; butterflies danced over them; and in the midst sat a forlorn little creature, weeping bitterly. It had a bushy tail and white stripes on its dark back. Its large blue eyes were brimming with tears.
“What is the matter?” asked Felix. He had never seen anybody cry, and it made him feel queer.
“I have lost my mother!” wailed the creature, rubbing his paws into his long eyelashes and tangling them up.
“I have no mother either,” said Felix. “Only three papas.”
The little fellow gave Felix a blue stare. “I do have a mother,” he lamented, “if I could only find her. Oh, where is she? I have had no lunch.” His paws moved lower down now to indicate the empty spot.
Felix understood. Here was common ground. They both liked lunch. “What is your favorite food?” he asked.
The little creature thought, wrinkling its nose. “Honey,” it said.
Felix clapped his hands and fluttered his wings. “Just what I like best!” he exclaimed. “Come home with me and my papas will give you some.”
“Who are you?” asked the little creature shyly.
“I am Felix, and my papas are the dwarfs.”
“Oh, the dwarfs! Oh no, I don’t think I’d like to go with you. Mother says the dwarfs are mean.”
Felix laughed. What an ignorant little thing it was, to be sure. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Archibald,” the creature answered proudly. “My father is Vincent Skunk-Phoo, not one of the common Skunks. He can trace his ancestors back to the Ark.” And Archibald modestly lowered his eyelashes.
“What does he do?” asked Felix.
“He manufactures perfume,” said Archibald. “He sells even to Queen Titania, and the flower fairies buy from him. It’s all in the way you use a gift. I am going to be like him.” And Archibald fluffed up his fur.
“It’s most interesting.” Felix was gazing at his new friend with admiration. “But do come and have lunch now.”
“Oh no, not with the dwarfs; they’re mean,” said Archibald.
“Where did you get that idea?” asked Felix, astonished. “They’re kind and good and all-wise. Come and see for yourself.”
“Oh!” Archibald’s beautiful eyes opened wide with wonder. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Come and see. There is Papa Ubald—he is very learned, you know. He does not talk much, and you must not disturb him, for that breaks his thread.”
“What thread?” asked Archibald.
“He has his thoughts in his head on a thread, and if you talk to him it breaks,” explained Felix. “Then he has to start a new thread all over again, and it may not be such a good one. But he is very kind, and he almost never gets angry.”
“And who else is there?” asked Archibald.
“Papa Alban. He is very often angry, but he does not mean it; it’s just his nerves. He likes me to stroke his head, because he has headaches. He makes lovely food and he is always busy looking after us. Then there is Papa Botolph. He is fun. He collects the most beautiful eggshells, and he makes flowers and salads and smells of onions and parsley. He plays games sometimes. But when you are hurt it is best to go to Papa Alban—he can take it away.”
Curiosity was overcoming Archibald’s fears. Besides, he was hungry. “All right, I’ll go with you,” he consented graciously.
Overjoyed, Felix took his paw. “Come, then,” he said tenderly. “I will show you the way. Don’t be afraid of the dark forest; the sun is right behind the trees all the time.”
“I know that,” protested Archibald, piqued. “I live in this forest.”
“How did you get lost, then?” asked Felix.
Archibald seemed embarrassed by this question. The fact was that he had been disobedient. He preferred not to think of it, and changed the subject. “What shall we have for lunch?” he asked.
The dwarfs had eaten their lunch and had left Felix’s plate on the table. Brother Alban was annoyed that he hadn’t come in time for the meal and muttered to himself that life was becoming impossible and that there seemed no end to what he had to put up with. His brothers had missed Felix’s gay chatter and were out of humor too.
Brother Botolph was the first to catch sight of the culprit, hand in hand with a skunk.
“Great Pan have mercy on us,” he muttered. “Look at that.”
He went to warn his brothers. “Here’s that child, bringing home a skunk!”
“Don’t let him in!” screeched Brother Alban, waving a saucepan.
“Don’t stop him, you mean,” came Brother Ubald’s quiet voice. “He’ll do no harm as
long as we don’t frighten or anger him. Keep calm, everybody, keep calm.”
The dwarfs trembled with anticipation.
“Hullo!” cried Felix, jumping into the kitchen and bestowing radiant smiles on the dwarfs. “Here’s Archibald, who has lost his mother. Can he have some lunch?”
Brother Alban bit his lips.
“Certainly,” said Brother Ubald.
Felix hadn’t waited for permission. “Here,” he told Archibald, who was staring at the dwarfs. “Here, you may sit in my chair and have my plate and spoon.” He ran off to the pantry and came staggering back with a huge jar of honey. “It’s our best crocus honey,” he announced. “Papa Botolph made it. Or would you rather have hyacinth honey? It’s a bit peppery. But try it.” He darted off to get some.
Brother Alban and Brother Botolph exchanged agonized glances. Not only did Felix reappear with the hyacinth honey, but he brought in the dessert Brother Alban had prepared for dinner, and some of the best maple candy.
The three brothers looked on helplessly while Archibald dug into his feast. Felix watched him from the other end of the table, his chin resting on his folded arms and his face one bright beam of hospitality.
“Isn’t it nice?” he asked. “Isn’t Papa Alban good at cooking? Do you see now that the dwarfs aren’t mean? Do you see how kind they are?” He was much too excited to eat himself. “And, you know, Papa Ubald is very clever. He knows everything. Ask him a question now, do! He knows the answer to them all.”
Archibald mumbled something with his mouth full.
“He wants to know why he can’t eat the moon,” Felix interpreted.
The dwarfs cast up their eyes at such an insatiable appetite. Brother Ubald obediently launched into a lengthy scientific description of the size and composition of the moon, but Archibald wasn’t listening. He had finished the two jars of honey, the cranberry pie, and the plate full of candy.
“Can I have some more?” he asked.
Brother Alban was going to shriek “No-o-o!” when Brother Botolph stamped hard on his foot, making him yelp, “Ouch!” instead.
Frowning, the dwarfs watched Archibald dig into a beautiful bit of dandelion cheese, made out of the milk that oozes from dandelion stalks. (It’s rather bitter, and you have to get used to it, but the dwarfs like nothing better.)
“Papa Alban made that,” Felix announced proudly.
Archibald took another slice.
Brother Alban vented his anger by punching Brother Ubald in the ribs. Brother Ubald had his nose in a thick book called The Psychical Disturbances and Neurotic Symptoms of the Skunk Family. He gave a howl of pain.
“What’s the matter?” asked Archibald, between chews.
“Nothing, nothing,” Brother Ubald answered hastily.
As Archibald’s appetite diminished, his curiosity rose. “Can you wiggle your ears?” he asked.
Brother Ubald disclaimed any such powers.
“I can wiggle my teeth,” Archibald told him, moving a loose baby tooth from side to side.
“Brother Alban can roll his eyes,” Felix boasted.
“Oh, lemme see!” begged Archibald.
Brother Alban blushed uncomfortably. He did not want to perform before the unwelcome visitor, but Brother Botolph gave him a push from behind.
“Lemme see, lemme see,” whined Archibald. Felix looked up expectantly. Brother Botolph gave Brother Alban another push.
Brother Alban rolled his eyes.
Archibald clapped his paws in rapture. “Do it again!”
Brother Alban did it again.
“And Brother Botolph can whistle,” said Felix, proud of Brother Alban’s success and fearful lest Brother Botolph feel left out. This time it was Brother Alban’s turn to push Brother Botolph. He did this with such vigor that Brother Botolph had difficulty in remaining upright.
“Lemme hear,” whined Archibald, still chewing. The dwarfs thought that the food must soon be coming out of his ears. “Lemme hear!”
So Brother Botolph whistled.
“Do it again!”
Brother Botolph did it again. Then, looking at the greatly diminished supply of cheese, he asked, “Are you sure you have had enough?”
Archibald reluctantly admitted that he could not eat any more. “Perhaps if I ran around a bit…” he suggested, but the dwarfs assured him that it was very bad to go on eating after you’ve had enough.
“Then I’ll be going home,” announced Archibald, who had not yet come to the age when one feels it is impolite to leave right after a meal.
“Indeed, we quite understand,” the dwarfs assured him. “Don’t let us keep you.”
“Come on, Felix,” said Archibald.
“Felix stays here,” Brother Alban began.
Archibald’s face puckered. His blue eyes filled with tears. “I must have Felix!” he wailed.
“Oh, all right, all right.” The dwarfs hastily consented.
Felix and Archibald danced out into the sunlight to look for Archibald’s mother.
They found the mother busily looking for Archibald.
“Oh, Mother, I’ve made such a lovely friend!” cried Archibald, rushing into her outstretched paws with flying tail. “Here he is; his name is Felix; and he lives with the dwarfs. They are not a bit mean, Mother—they have a beautiful house with a staircase in it, and they have lots of food. You should have seen it, Mother!”
Archibald’s mother was agreeably surprised. She was gracious to Felix and thanked him for helping her little son. Later she told the neighbors, “It just shows you that you must never judge people. I always thought those dwarfs the most ill-mannered and selfish folk I’d ever met, and here they were so kind to Archibald. It makes me feel ashamed of myself. Vincent and I are going to pay them a call.”
So they did, decked in their best clothes and carrying printed cards, in case the dwarfs weren’t home. Of course the dwarfs were home, and not at all pleased to see them, but there was nothing for it except to be agreeable again. Mr. Skunk-Phoo was all Archibald had boasted that he was. He wore a top hat and a monocle and he used very long words. His wife was most elegantly attired—she wore white gloves and carried a handkerchief drenched in her husband’s most expensive perfume.
Brother Alban served camomile tea and caraway cookies. He did not know what to say, and conversation would have flagged if it had not been for Felix, who chattered away about the dwarfs’ perfections and the amiable characteristics of Archibald till everyone was pleased and even the dwarfs began to believe in their own hospitality.
This, of course, was a social event. The Skunk-Phoos didn’t visit just anybody. It was mentioned in the Forest Gazette, and the dwarfs were absurdly pleased.
It has come to our ears that Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Skunk-Phoo have been entertained by the Brothers McOakum, our estimable dwarfs. We have it on good authority that Mrs. Skunk-Phoo wore a lilac gown trimmed with gray fur and had one of the newest hats perched lightly over the left ear. We congratulate the brothers on a very successful tea party.
Brother Alban and Brother Botolph hung over Brother Ubald’s shoulder while he read it out again and again.
The trouble about a reputation is that it is hard to live down. The dwarfs had now been publicly commended for their hospitality. They could no longer slam the door in the faces of casual visitors. They realized this themselves. Nor would they have cared to disillusion Felix, who went around telling everybody what good fellows they were. Now the dwarfs had never suffered much from their bad reputation, but they found that a good reputation can become a very expensive and troublesome luxury. If it hadn’t been for Felix, of course, the situation might not have been so bad. But Felix made altogether too many friends. The dwarfs began to feel they had no home any longer. Whenever Brother Ubald wanted to sit down and read he was sure to find some animal curled up in his chair. Brother Alban never knew how many would come for the meals, and was constantly wiping up dirty footmarks. As for Brother Botolph, Felix’s friendly relations with r
abbits, chipmunks, woodchucks, and squirrels were so inconvenient that he began to long for the good old days of the alarm clock.
Of course the dwarfs protested. They told Felix what they felt about his friends. They told him how much they liked privacy and peace. They told him that they liked to eat their own food once in a while. But Felix smiled as if to say, “You may grumble, but I know you love all these creatures just as much as I do.” And what can one do against a belief like that?
4. The King’s Message
Felix felt very sorry for Mamma Squirrel. She had been kind to him all summer, and the triplets had been fun to play with, but obviously Mr. Squirrel’s absence was beginning to prey on her. She was losing her healthy red color and becoming pale. Her eyes were swollen from weeping.
“I can’t imagine what has happened to him,” she moaned, rocking one of the triplets on her lap. “You’d think he would at least have sent me word. It’s almost eight weeks now since he went. He might be dead, and I none the wiser. It’s the worry and the uncertainty I mind most. If I knew he was happy, I would not fret. But how can he be happy? Who else knows the way he likes his coffee and his nuts prepared? Who else will make his bed the way he wants it, without a wrinkle and with a balsam pillow? I fear very much that he is miserable—but ashamed to come back because he thinks I am angry.” (Here Mrs. Squirrel wiped her eyes with the tail of the triplet she was holding on her lap.)
She continued in the tenderest of tones. “Angry—how can I be angry when I love him? Poor Red, alone and desolate, while we are longing for him. But how can I let him know? It is very sad.” And she sobbed quietly.
Felix wished he could help her. He had grown a lot during the summer, and tears were no longer a novelty to him. He had shared the grief of Mrs. Hare when her eldest son had blundered into a trap and had suffered a cruel death. He had helped when a storm blew down one of the oldest trees in the forest, causing untold havoc and misery and filling the Forest Gazette with the names of its wounded inhabitants. He also regularly visited the poor old witch in the forest hospital who had been knocked silly by lightning and had forgotten all her spells. He talked to her about cats and broomsticks, and that made her feel at home.
King Oberon's Forest Page 4