The King of Gee-Whiz Part 14

While they were settling themselves for the ride the Enchanted Banjo sang:

HOW THE FAIRIES SING

You can hear the Fairies sing Just as plain as anything, If you wait Till the breeze at twilight blows Breaths of perfume from the rose At the gate.

Then it is you may hear words Sweeter than the songs of birds, Fair and fine, Soft and sweet and low and clear-- No such words as yours, my dear, Nor as mine.

But the speech they use is quaint, Whispery, and very faint, Yet it swells As it drifts, now high, now low, Borne in echoes to and fro Like to bells.

Once you hear the speech of them You will know each word a gem New and bright, For it seems to sway and shake As the jewels do that break Into light.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXIII

TO THE VALLEY OF THE FAIRIES

At once the coachman whirled his little team out from the small room in the rock, and the coach took its place between the rails of the Golden Ladder, which now seemed to resemble the rails of a railroad. They were headed straight down, and Zuzu and Lulu caught their breath as the coach dived off and began to drop as fast as lightning, down and down. But hardly had this flight begun before, to their great surprise, both lost their fear of falling, and, indeed, forgot that they were going in any direction except straight ahead.

They flew on and on, as fast as a bird and as easily, the b.u.mblebee horses galloping steadily without stopping to draw a breath, the coachman flirting his whip now and then, and the footman sitting up very straight and stern. The Enchanted Banjo now looked perfectly happy.

"In this way, my friends," it remarked, "we shall soon be at the edge of the Valley of the Fairies. Had you stopped to climb down that Ladder, there is no telling how long it would have taken you. It might have been several years, and, indeed, for all I know, you might have been old persons by the time you got there, and so have had trouble about getting into the Valley; for every one knows that children are more loved by the Fairies than old people."

"How long will it take to get there now?" asked Lulu.

"That is a hard question to answer," replied the Enchanted Banjo, "but I will sing a little in order to pa.s.s away the time." And so the Banjo sang:

THE CRAB AND THE LOBSTER

The Lobster and the Crab once met Where all the sand was nice and wet, And bowing nicely, down they sat To have a pleasant, friendly chat.

They talked about the weather; next How with their children they were vexed; Then said the Crab: "I often fret About the Rules of Etiquette."

"Now I," the Lobster said, "am, too, Disturbed by it the same as you.

I do not like these folks who say One should act thus, or talk this way.

"My nature is, indeed, mine own; Why, if the King called from his throne For me to go ahead, he'd find That I should quickly drop behind."

"I, too," the Crab declared, "am odd, And at some formal laws I nod.

In this one thing I take great pride: When I walk straight, I step aside."

Oh, children, pray take heed of this-- You, little boy; you, little miss-- The Lobster and the Crab do thus Because they are like most of us.

The Crab goes on in sidewise tracks And when the Lobster leads, it backs!

They do so, for it is, you know, The only way that each can go.

"We are now in a land where things are not measured as they are in your world," said the Banjo. "You saw how easily you got into this small coach, did you not? Its measurement is not the same as that of a coach up there," and it pointed directly above. "In the same way, the time will be much smaller than the same length of time would be where we came from. I don't think the journey will tire you in the least, but it may, perhaps, be a sensible thing for you to curl up on the seats and take a little nap."

"That is so," remarked Lulu. "I am feeling rather sleepy."

"So am I," said Zuzu.

So they both curled up on the seats and went fast asleep.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXIV

THE ROYAL AND OFFICIAL COUNCIL

In the meantime, as may readily be imagined, there was a sad time at the palace of the King of Gee-Whiz. The Widow Pickle threatened to upset the royal household if her Twins were not brought back before sundown of that day. No trace could be found of the royal shadow, nor could any one tell what had become of the wooden leg of the Royal Army. The Private Secretary was almost frantic over all these difficulties, and the Court Physician was also at his wits' end, seeking for some remedy for the strange disease of the King, which had caused him to lose his shadow, this being a thing which he could not find mentioned in any of the medical works which he habitually consulted.

"Oh, my poor head! My poor head!" said the King. "And to think that my poor, dear shadow may have quite as bad a headache for all I know! Oh, dear, was ever so unhappy a King as I! Jiji, play for me, and see if you cannot do something to settle my poor nerves."

The Private Secretary went into his apartment, but presently returned and fell prostrate upon his face. "O, King," cried he, "I am the most wretched servant that ever disappointed a royal master!"

"Why, what is the matter now? What is the matter?" asked the King. "Has anything else gone wrong?"

"O, King," said the Private Secretary, "I regret to say that the Enchanted Banjo has disappeared from my apartments in the royal palace."

"Ah!" cried the King of Gee-Whiz, as he heard the news. "This is almost too much! I begin to feel so strange that I really think I shall have to send for the Court Headsman."

As the King of Gee-Whiz said this, he fixed a stern eye upon the unfortunate Private Secretary; who, as must be plain to all, had not been in the least to blame for any of these unhappy events.

"I beg to suggest, your Majesty," said the Private Secretary, "that you send for the Court Detective instead."

"If in your opinion he can be of the slightest service," replied the King, "then pray have him come and set to work at once."

So the Court Detective came and was admitted to the presence of the King. He was an oldish looking man, thin, and dressed in a long, flowing, black gown. He carried under one arm a large book, and under the other a basket of plaster-of-paris, with which he was accustomed to think he would some day make a cast of the footprints of some escaping criminal. On his nose he wore two pairs of spectacles, one for far looking and one for close looking, and in general he was a very wise-appearing man. The King at once explained to him the reasons for his summons to the palace, and at that the Court Detective became even more wise.

"I see, your Majesty," he remarked, "you have lost your shadow. Ha! Hum!

Most serious, most serious, I a.s.sure your Majesty."

"And the Widow has lost the Royal Hereditary Twins," continued the King.

"Precisely. Most serious, most serious," said the Court Detective. "It would have been better had I been called much earlier, before the trail was so cold; but we shall see, your Majesty, we shall see."

"And the Private Secretary has lost the Enchanted Banjo, upon which we were accustomed to rely for our entertainment."

"Ah, that is very bad, very bad indeed! Whom does your Majesty suspect of all these things? Is it your Majesty's belief that one and the same person has committed all these crimes?"