Fifty-Two Stories For Girls Part 65

Then the stranger knight undid his visor, and took off his armour; and, as his golden locks floated down his shoulders, the soldiers cried out, "'Tis the King! 'tis the King!"

Wattie was called forth by the King of all the Land, and was bidden to take the knightly helmet with its waving plume, and the s.h.i.+eld, and the silver sword, and to wear them. The men of Langaffer laughed aloud; but Wattie did as he was commanded, and put on the knightly armour and weapons.

And, behold at that moment he grew up into a great, strong warrior, worthy to wield them! He was knighted then and there, "Sir Walter of Ravenspur," and presented with the castle on the hill, which the king's own army repaired ere they quitted Langaffer.

And then the King of all the Land sent a fair white robe, the size of the Queen's ladies'; and when little Mattie put this on, she grew up tall and stately to fit it. And, for many and many a year to come, she was known as the "Good Dame Martha, the faithful lady of Sir Walter of Ravenspur."

II.

THE KINGFISHER.

Martin was a gardener, and lived in a cottage in the midst of a hamlet near Langaffer. All the country for miles round belonged to the old king and queen; and their beautiful palace was hard by the village, in a stately grove of elms and beech trees. Before the windows extended a lovely garden, which was kept in order by Martin. Here he toiled every day from morning-dawn till evening-dusk; and, in his own churlish manner, he had come to love the flowers that cost him so much labour.

Like many another honest gardener, however, Martin found it very hard that he could not have his own way in this world, even as concerned his plants. For instance, the old monarch would come out every morning after breakfast in his dressing-gown and slippers, and would admire the bloom; but the very flowers he appeared to prize most were those that cost Martin least trouble, and which the gardener in his heart despised as cheap and vulgar.

Then the queen and the young ladies were wont to appear on the terrace before dinner, with their little lapdogs, and call out for posies. They must have the finest tea-roses and moss-roses that were only in bud.

Martin might grumble about to-morrow's "poor show," and point to some rare full-blown beauties--but no, they just desired those which were not yet opened.

Moreover, there grew here and there in the garden a plant or shrub, which, Martin considered, would have been better removed; especially one large lauristinus, which, he declared, "destroyed all symmetry," and "hindered the flowers about it from enjoying the suns.h.i.+ne."

But the old king obstinately opposed changes of this sort, and strictly forbade his gardener, on any pretext whatever, to remove the lauristinus; as it was well known at the court that for generations a spell was connected with this special shrub, and that therefore the less it was meddled with the better.

All this interference tended to sour poor Martin's temper; but he himself declared it was nothing compared to the aggravating behaviour of Prince Primus, commonly called "Lord Lackaday," the king's eldest son.

This young n.o.bleman, who was renowned far and wide for his indolent habits, sauntered forth every day with a little boy carrying his fis.h.i.+ng-tackle, away through the lovely gardens, without once turning his head to behold the brilliant parterres of "calceolarias, pelargoniums, petunias and begonias," or to inhale the sweet-scented heliotropes,--away through the park, and on to the river; for my Lord Lackaday's sole pastime was angling.

"Humph! there he goes with his tackle," Martin would murmur, turning from tying up his carnations to stare after him. "If old Martin, now, were to spend _his_ days lying stretched _his_ full length on the gra.s.s, with a rod dangling in the water before him, what would the world come to? And where would _you_ be, my beauties?" he added, continuing his occupation. "Hanging your lovely heads, my darlings!" And so he grumbled and mumbled in an undertone to himself the whole livelong day, until he went home to his supper at night; when his good wife, Ursula, would endeavour to cheer him with her hearty welcome.

One evening Martin went with his clay pipe and his pewter ale-pot in his hand to the village inn, to divert himself listening to the general gossip which was carried on there between the host and the little group of customers--weavers, tinkers, tailors, blacksmiths and labourers.

To-night they talked of the rich old king and queen, and Lord Lackaday, and all the gay princesses, knights and ladies, who lived at the court, and rode by in such splendid carriages, in such gorgeous attire.

"They eat out of golden dishes," said the tailor, "and the very nails in their boots are silver!"

Martin knew as much about the court as any present; but he was in one of his silent humours this evening.

"The princess gave a hundred crowns," cried the blacksmith, "for a one-eyed lapdog, and My Lord Lackaday--Prince Primus, I mean--two hundred for a certain white fly for his angling-rod----"

"And he never gave _me_ a hundred _groats_," blurted out Martin, who could not stand any reference to the prince in question.

Thereupon the conversation took another turn; wages were discussed, the weaver and the ploughman "compared notes"; and, as for Martin, it was the unanimous opinion of the whole company that he, at least, ought to strike--to insist on an increase of pay, or refuse to labour any more as the king's own gardener.

Accordingly, the next morning Martin watched and waited till his royal master came sidling along the smooth gravel walk in his embroidered slippers, with his dressing-gown floating about him, sniffing with good-humoured satisfaction the sweet fragrance of the standard roses, that formed a phalanx on either side.

"I've got to tell your Majesty," began Martin abruptly, "that, unless your Majesty raises my salary, I can't work any more in your Majesty's garden."

Whereupon the old king started back all astonished; then laughed so heartily that he brought on a fit of coughing.

"Your Majesty may be highly amused," grumbled Martin, "but I've said my say, and I mean to stick to it!"

"But suppose your salary _ain't_ raised," began the king, trying his best to look serious, "what then?"

"Then I'll go!" cried Martin; and, so saying, he flung his spade with such force into the soil, that it stood upright.

"Well, my man, we'll give you a week to come to your senses," replied the monarch, as, gathering up his skirts, he shuffled away down the garden walk.

When Martin arrived home he found a great fuss going on in his little cottage. All the good wives of the hamlet were gathered about the door-porch; and, when he entered, lo, and behold, Dame Ursula held in her arms the dearest little beauty of a baby-boy!

She wept for joy, as she saw how pleased her goodman was with his new little son; but when he related to her all that had pa.s.sed between himself and his master, the old king, she clasped her hands together, and began to weep and wail for sorrow, "because," as she said, "it was a very bad time to be 'out of work,' and an evil omen for the child.

However, we'll have a real nice christening, Martin dear, and invite all the _good fairies_. And next week you will go on with your gardening again, you know, just as if nothing had happened."

So they had as grand a christening as people in their circ.u.mstances could afford. The baby was called Lionel, "which," remarked some of the neighbours, "was quite too fine a name for a common gardener's son."

Only one bright little, gay little fairy could be found who had time to come to the christening. But she was a good-natured little thing, that somehow always found exactly time to render a great many kindly services. She willingly became Lionel's G.o.dmother, and promised to help him through life as far as she could. "However," added the little lady, with a sigh, "there's many a wicked fairy in the land may try to throw a shadow across his path."

Now the day after the christening, and after the fairy's departure, the troubles in little Lionel's home appeared to set in. Martin's leather money-bag hung empty, and there was very little bread in the house for his wife to eat; and this Sat.u.r.day night no wages were coming due. Oh, how he yearned for Monday morning, that he might go at his digging again; and how anxiously he hoped that all might continue as before!

Slowly the week dragged out, the lagging hours weighing like chains on the heart of the honest yeoman, who was not accustomed to idleness.

At last the Monday morning dawned, with rustling of leaves, and twittering of birds; and Martin flung his clothes on, and hastened forth to the royal garden.

Ah, me! the place looked neglected since only last week. The roses and carnations hung their heads for want of a drop of water, and the leaves of the fuchsias had mostly turned white. Weeds were staring out boldly right and left; and the box-borders, that had ever been so trim and neat, just appeared as if all the cats and dogs in the country-side had gathered in on purpose to tear them to pieces.

Martin sped to the toolhouse for his watering-can, rake and hoe; but he was somewhat dismayed indeed to find his implements broken in pieces, and lying scattered about.

What could it mean?

He took a few strides towards the "lime walk," and gazed up at the castle windows. The lattices were closed, and all was silent. But then, of course, the old king and queen and My Lord Lackaday, and all the princesses would be sleeping in their beds at this early hour of the morning. Martin must wait until some human creature appeared to tell him how the garden tools came to be broken and scattered.

In the meantime he trudged back to his own domain among the flowers, and pa.s.sed the dreary moments picking off the withered leaves. By-and-by a light footstep was audible, and "Impudent Jack the jockey" arrived whistling, with a heavy-jowled bull-dog at his heels, and stamped right across the garden parterres, switching off the carnation-tops with his cutty-whip.

"Holloa there, man! Mind what you're about!" cried Martin foaming with wrath. "I wish His Majesty the old king saw you."

"The old king!" cried Jack, standing still, and gazing at Martin with some amazement. "Why, Martin, the old king is _dead_ a week to-morrow, and My Lord Lackaday is master now. And, as for the garden, my man, you may set your mind at rest about that, for his new Royal Majesty has given orders that the whole concern is to be turned into a lake for His Majesty to fish in. Now!" And, so saying, _impudent_ Jack that he was, continued his way, whistling louder, and switching off more carnation tops than before.

Poor Martin was utterly dazed. Could it be true, or was it only a cunning invention of Impudent Jack the jockey's?

Alas, the prolonged stillness that reigned in the park, and the forlorn aspect of the castle windows, made his heart sink like lead within him.

Suddenly a postern door banged, and then a slow, dawdling step was heard in the distance, and Martin perceived, approaching the "lime walk," My Lord Lackaday, with his fis.h.i.+ng-rod and tackle. There were two or three young pages with him bearing baskets and nets; and he overheard one of them say, "By-and-by your Majesty shall not have so far to go, once the new pond here is finished."

This was more than Martin could endure. He dashed after the royal fisherman, and screamed forth, "Can it be true that the flower gardens are to be made a pond of? And how is your father's gardener then to get his living?"

"Don't bother us," drawled out the new king; "we don't like flowers, nor do we care whether you get a living or not!"

The blood rushed to Martin's head, and a singing sound filled his ears.

"A pond!" he cried. "A common fishpond! And how am I to earn my living now? And what is to become of my wife and little Lionel?"

In his anger and despair, Martin sprang blindly forward, and kicked the standard roses, and wrung the necks of the beautiful purple iris that bloomed in the shade of some laurel bushes. His eye caught the spellbound lauristinus, and, forgetting his late good master's commands, he fell on it furiously with both hands, and tore, and wrenched it from the earth.