* * *
“Why not?” said Dorothy. She said this very sternly, for she felt morally certain that the Admiral was trying to conceal something from her.
* * *
“Well, you see,” said the Admiral, uneasily, “he talked too much. He was always grumbling.”
* * *
“Grumbling about what?” said Dorothy.
* * *
“Oh, about a wariety of things,” said the Admiral. “Meals and lodgings and all that, you know. I used to try to stop him. ‘Cammy,’ I says—”
* * *
“‘Cammy’ is short for camel,” explained Sir Walter, and Dorothy laughed and nodded, and the Admiral went on—
* * *
“‘Cammy,’ I says, ‘don’t scold so much’; but lor! I might as well have talked to a turnpike-gate.”
* * *
“Better,” put in Sir Walter. “That shuts up sometimes, and he never did.”
* * *
“Oh, jummy!” said the Highlander, with a chuckle, “that’s a good one!”
* * *
“But what was it all about?” persisted Dorothy.
* * *
“You tell her, Ruffles,” said the Admiral.
* * *
“Well,” said Sir Walter, “it was all the same thing, over and over again. He had it all in verses so he wouldn’t forget any of it. It went like this:
* * *
“Canary-birds feed on sugar and seed,
Parrots have crackers to crunch;
And, as for the poodles, they tell me the noodles
Have chickens and cream for their lunch.
But there’s never a question
About my digestion—
Anything does for me!
* * *
“Cats, you’re aware, can repose in a chair,
Chickens can roost upon rails;
Puppies are able to sleep in a stable,
And oysters can slumber in pails.
But no one supposes
A poor Camel dozes—
Any place does for me!
* * *
“Lambs are inclosed where it’s never exposed,
Coops are constructed for hens;
Kittens are treated to houses well heated,
And pigs are protected by pens.
But a Camel comes handy
Wherever it’s sandy—
Anywhere does for me!
* * *
“People would laugh if you rode a giraffe,
Or mounted the back of an ox;
It’s nobody’s habit to ride on a rabbit,
Or try to bestraddle a fox.
But as for a Camel, he’s
Ridden by families—
Any load does for me!
* * *
“A snake is as round as a hole in the ground,
And weasels are wavy and sleek;
And no alligator could ever be straighter
Than lizards that live in a creek.
But a Camel’s all lumpy
And bumpy and humpy—
Any shape does for me!”
* * *
Now, Dorothy was a very tender-hearted little child, and by the time these verses were finished she hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry. “Poor old, feeble-minded thing!” she said, compassionately. “And what became of him at last?”
* * *
There was a dead silence for a moment, and then the Admiral said solemnly:
* * *
“We put him in a pond.”
* * *
“Why, that’s the most unhuman thing I ever heard of in all my life!” exclaimed Dorothy, greatly shocked at this news.
* * *
“Well,” said the Admiral, in a shamefaced sort of way, “we thought it was a good thing to do—for us, you know.”
* * *
“And I call it proud and unforgiving,” said Dorothy, indignantly. “Did the poor creature say anything?”
* * *
“Not at first,” said the Admiral; “but after he got in he said things.”
* * *
“Such as what?” said Dorothy.
* * *
“Oh, we couldn’t make out what he said,” replied the Admiral, peevishly. “It was perfectly unintellijibbergibble.”
* * *
“Kind of gurgly,” put in the Highlander.
* * *
“Did he go right down?” inquired Dorothy, very anxiously.
* * *
“Not a bit of it,” said the Admiral, flippantly. “He never went down at all. He floated, just like a cork, you know.”
* * *
“Round and round and round,” added Sir Walter.
* * *
“Like a turnip,” put in the Highlander.
* * *
“What do you mean by that?” said Dorothy, sharply.
* * *
“Nothing,” said the Highlander, looking very much abashed; “only I thought turnips turned round.”
* * *
Dorothy was greatly provoked at all this, and felt that she really ought to say something very severe; but the fact was that the Caravan looked so innocent, sitting on the grass with their sunbonnets all crooked on their heads, that it was as much as she could do to keep from laughing outright. “You know,” she said to herself, “if it wasn’t for the Highlander’s whiskers, it’d be precisely like a’ infant class having a picnic; and after all, they’re really nothing but graven images”—so she contented herself by saying, as severely as she could:
* * *
“Well, I’m extremely displeased, and I’m very much ashamed of all of you.”
* * *
The Caravan received this reproof with great cheerfulness, especially the Admiral, who took a look at Dorothy through his spy-glass, and then said with much satisfaction: “Now we’re each being ashamed of by three persons”; but Dorothy very properly took no notice of this remark, and walked away in a dignified manner.
The Sizing Tower
As Dorothy walked along, wondering what would happen to her next, she felt something tugging at her frock, and looking around she saw that it was the Highlander running along beside her, quite breathless, and trying very hard to attract her attention. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said, stopping short and looking at him pleasantly.
* * *
“Yes, it’s me,” said the Highlander, sitting down on the ground as if he were very much fatigued. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you privately for a very long time.”
* * *
“What about?” said Dorothy, wondering what was coming now.
* * *
“Well,” said the Highlander, blushing violently and appearing to be greatly embarrassed, “you seem to be a very kind-hearted person, and I wanted to show you some poetry I’ve written.”
* * *
“Did you compose it?” said Dorothy, kindly.
* * *
“No,” said the Highlander; “I only made it up. Would you like to hear it?”
* * *
“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Dorothy, as gravely as she could; “I should like to hear it very much.”
* * *
“It’s called”—said the Highlander, lowering his voice confidentially and looking cautiously about—”it’s called ‘The Pickle and the Policeman’;” and, taking a little paper out of his pocket, he began:
* * *
“There was a little pickle and his name was John—”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Dorothy, “I don’t think that will do at all.”
* * *
“Suppose I call him George?” said the Highlander, gazing reflectively at his paper. “It’s got to be something short, you know.”
* * *
“But you mustn’t call him anything,” said Dorothy, laughing. “Pickles don’t have any names.”
* * *
/>
“All right,” said the Highlander; and, taking out a pencil, he began repairing his poetry with great industry. He did a great deal of writing, and a good deal of rubbing out with his thumb, and finally said triumphantly:
* * *
“There was a little pickle and he hadn’t any name!”
“Yes, that will do very nicely,” said Dorothy; and the Highlander, clearing his voice, read off his poetry with a great flourish:
* * *
“There was a little pickle and he hadn’t any name—
In this respect, I’m just informed, all pickles are the same.
A large policeman came along, a-swinging of his club,
And took that little pickle up and put him in a tub.
* * *
“That’s rather good about taking him up,” said the Highlander, chuckling to himself; “so exactly like a policeman, you know.”
* * *
“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Dorothy, who was ready to scream with laughter. “What’s the rest of it?”
* * *
“There isn’t any more,” said the Highlander, rather confusedly. “There was going to be another verse, but I couldn’t think of anything more to say.”
* * *
“Oh, well, it’s very nice as it is,” said Dorothy, consolingly; and then, as the Highlander put up his paper and went away, she laughed till her eyes were full of tears. “They are all funny,” she said at last, as she walked away through the wood, “but I think he’s funnier than all of ’em put together”—which, by the way, was not a very sensible remark for her to make, as you will see if you’ll take the trouble to think it over.
* * *
But presently, as she strolled along, she made a discovery that quite drove the Highlander and his ridiculous poetry out of her head. It was a tower in the wood; not an ordinary tower, of course, for there would have been nothing remarkable about that, but a tower of shining brass, and so high that the top of it was quite out of sight among the branches of the trees. But the strangest thing about it was that there seemed to be no possible way of getting into it, and Dorothy was very cautiously walking around it to see if she could find any door when she came suddenly upon the Caravan standing huddled together, and apparently in a state of great excitement.
* * *
“What is it?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.
* * *
“Hush!” said the Admiral, in an agitated whisper. “We think it’s where Bob Scarlet changes himself”—and as he said this there was a tremendous flapping of wings, and down came Bob Scarlet through the branches and landed with a thump a little way from where they were standing. He was as big as a goose again, and his appearance was so extremely formidable that the Caravan, as one man, threw themselves flat on their faces in a perfect frenzy of terror, and Dorothy herself hid in the grass, with her heart beating like a little eight-day clock. But Bob Scarlet fortunately paid no more attention to any of them than if they had been so many flies, and, after strutting about for a moment with his usual important air, strolled away in the direction of the toy-shop.
* * *
“Now what do you make of that?” said the Admiral, lifting up his head. “He went in at a little door not five minutes ago, and he wasn’t any bigger than an every-day bird.”
* * *
“I’m sure I don’t know what to make of it,” said Dorothy. “But where is the door?” she added, running around the tower and looking at it on all sides.
* * *
“It went up after him,” said the Admiral, “like a corkscrew.”
* * *
“And it’s coming down again, like a gimlet!” shouted the Highlander; and, as they all looked up, sure enough there was the little door slowly coming down, around and around, as if it were descending an invisible staircase on the outside of the tower. They all watched this performance with much interest, and as the door touched the ground it opened, and, to Dorothy’s amazement, out came the little field-mouse.
* * *
“What is it?” cried Dorothy, as they all crowded around the little creature. “Do tell us what it all means.”
* * *
“It’s a Sizing Tower,” said the Mouse, its little voice trembling with agitation. “You get big at the top, and little at the bottom. I wouldn’t go up there again—not for a bushel of nuts.”
* * *
“Were you pretty big?” inquired Sir Walter.
* * *
“Monstrous!” said the Mouse, with a little shudder; “I was as big as a squirrel; and while I was up there, Bob Scarlet flew up and came down with the door, and there I was.”
* * *
“That was a precious mess!” remarked the Highlander.
* * *
“Wasn’t it now!” said the Mouse. “And if he hadn’t taken it into his head to come up again and fly down, I’d ’a’ been there yet.”
* * *
“Why, it’s the very thing for us!” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands with delight as a happy thought occurred to her. “Let’s all go up and get back our regular selves.”
* * *
“You go first,” said the Admiral, suspiciously, “and call down to us how it feels.” But Dorothy wouldn’t hear of this; and after a great deal of arguing and pushing and saying “You go in first,” the whole party at last got squeezed in through the little doorway. Then the Mouse sat up on its hind legs and waved a little farewell with its paws, and the door softly closed.
* * *
“If we begin to grow now,” said the Admiral’s voice in the dark, “we’ll all be squeegeed, sure!”
“What an extraordinary thing!” exclaimed Dorothy; for they had come out into a street full of houses.
* * *
“What I want to know is what’s become of the door,” said Sir Walter, indignantly, staring at a high wall where the door had been, and which was now perfectly blank.
* * *
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Dorothy, quite bewildered. “It’s really quite mysterious, isn’t it?”
* * *
“It makes my stomach tickle like anything,” said the Highlander, in a quavering voice.
* * *
“What shall we do?” said Dorothy, looking about uneasily.
* * *
“Run away!” said the Admiral, promptly; and without another word the Caravan took to their heels and disappeared around a corner. Dorothy hurried after them, but by the time she turned the corner they were quite out of sight; and as she stopped and looked about her she discovered that she was once more in the Ferryman’s street, and, to her great delight, quite as large as she had been when she left the Blue Admiral Inn.
The Dancing Animals
It seemed to be evening again, and, although the Ferryman was nowhere in sight, Dorothy knew the place the moment she looked up and saw the peaked roofs outlined against the sky. The houses were quaint, old-fashioned-looking buildings with the upper parts jutting far out beyond the lower stories and with dark little doorways almost hidden in the shadows beneath; and the windows were very small casements filled with diamond-shaped panes of shining green glass. All the houses were brilliantly lighted up, and there were great iron lamps swung on chains across the street, so that the street itself was almost as bright as day, and Dorothy thought she recognized it as a place she had once read about where nobody but astrologers lived. There was a confused sound of fiddling going on somewhere, and as Dorothy walked along she could hear a scuffling noise inside the houses as if the inhabitants were dancing about on sanded floors. Presently, as she turned a corner, she came upon a number of storks who were dancing a sort of solemn quadrille up and down the middle of the street. They stopped dancing as she came along, and stood in a row gazing gravely at her as she passed by and then resumed their quadrille as solemnly as before.
* * *
The strangest thing about the fiddling was that it seemed to be going on somewhere in the air, and the sound appeared to come fr
om all directions at once. At first the music was soft and rather slow in time, but it grew louder and louder, and the fiddles played faster and faster, until presently they were going at such a furious rate that Dorothy stopped and looked back to see how the storks were getting on in their dancing; and she could see them in the distance, scampering up and down the street, and bumping violently against one another in a frantic attempt to keep time with the music. At any other time she would have been vastly amused at this spectacle; but just then she was feeling a little afraid that some of the astrologers might come out to see what was going on, and she was therefore quite relieved when the storks presently gave up all hope of finishing their quadrille, and rising in the air with a tremendous flapping of wings, flew away over the tops of the houses and disappeared. Strangely enough, the sound of the fiddling followed them like a traveling band, and grew fainter and fainter until it finally died away in the distance.
The Big Book of Christmas Page 130