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The Joyous Story of Toto

Laura Richards
The Joyous Story of Toto

Полная версия

At last, after a long time, the sixty huntsmen returned, laden down with huge bags, the contents of which they piled up in a great heap in the middle of the courtyard. A mountain of birds! Such a thing had never been seen before. The mountain was so high that everybody thought the full number of birds must be there; and the Chief Cook began to make his preparations, and sent to borrow the garden roller from John the gardener, as his own was not big enough to roll out such a quantity of paste.

The King and the Wise Men next proceeded to count the birds. But alas! what was their sorrow 36 to find that the number fell short by one! They counted again and again; but it was of no use: there were only nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight birds in the pile.

The next thing was to find out what bird was missing. So the Wise Men sorted all the birds, and compared them with the pictures in the books, and studied so hard that they wore out three pairs of spectacles apiece; and at last they discovered that the missing bird was the “Golden breasted Kootoo.” The chief Wise Man read aloud from the biggest book: —

“The Golden-breasted Kootoo, the most beautiful and the most melodious of singing birds, is found only in secluded parts of the Vale of Coringo. Its plumage is of a brilliant golden yellow, except on the back, where it is streaked with green. Its beak is – ”

“There! there!” interrupted the King impatiently; “never mind about its beak. Tell the Lord Chamberlain to pack my best wig and a clean shirt, and send them after me by a courier; and, 37 Chief Huntsman, follow me. We start this moment for the Vale of Coringo!”

And actually, if you will believe it, the King did start off in less than an hour from the counting of the birds. He rode on horseback, and was accompanied only by the Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band, the courier being obliged to wait for the King’s best wig to be curled.

The poor Band had a hard time of it; for he had a very frisky horse, and found it extremely difficult to manage the beast with one hand and hold the jews-harp with the other; but the King, with much ingenuity, fastened the head of the horse to the tail of his own steady cob, thereby enabling the musician to give all his attention to his instrument. The music was a trifle jerky at times; but what of that? It was music, and the King was satisfied.

They rode night and day, and at length arrived at the Vale of Coringo, and took lodgings at the principal hotel. The King was very weary, as he had been riding for a week without stopping. So he went to bed at once, and slept for two whole days.

On the morning of the third day he was roused from a wonderful dream (in which he was singing a duet with the Golden-breasted Kootoo, to a jews-harp accompaniment) by the sound of music. The King sat up in bed, and listened. It was a bird’s song that he heard, and it seemed to come from the vines outside his window. But what a song it was! And what a bird it must be that could utter such wondrous sounds! He listened, too enchanted to move, while the magical song swelled louder and clearer, filling the air with melody. At last he rose, and crept softly to the window. There, on a swinging vine, sat a beautiful bird, all golden yellow, with streaks of green on its back. It was 40 the Golden-breasted Kootoo! There could be no doubt about it, even if its marvellous song had not announced it as the sweetest singer of the whole world. Very quietly, but trembling with excitement, the King put on his slippers and his flowered dressing-gown, and seizing his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.

It was early dawn, and nobody was awake in the hotel except the Boots, who was blacking his namesakes in the back hall. He saw the King come down, and thought he had come to get his boots; but the monarch paid no attention to him, quietly unbolted the front door, and slipped out into the garden. Was he too late? Had the bird flown? No, the magic song still rose from the vines outside his chamber-window. But even now, as the King approached, a fluttering was heard, and the Golden-breasted Kootoo, spreading its wings, flew slowly away over the garden wall, and away towards the mountain which rose just behind the hotel. The King followed, clambering painfully over the high wall, and leaving fragments 41 of his brocade dressing-gown on the sharp spikes which garnished it. Once over, he made all speed, and found that he could well keep the bird in sight, for it was flying very slowly. A provoking bird it was, to be sure! It would fly a little way, and then, alighting on a bush or hanging spray, would pour forth a flood of melody, as if inviting its pursuer to come nearer; but before the unhappy King could get within gunshot, it would flutter slowly onward, keeping just out of reach, and uttering a series of mocking notes, which seemed to laugh at his efforts. On and on flew the bird, up the steep mountain; on and on went the King in pursuit. It is all very well to fly up a mountain; but to crawl and climb up, with a heavy gun in one’s hand, and one’s dressing-gown catching on every sharp point of rock, and the tassel of one’s nightcap bobbing into one’s eyes, is a very different matter, I can tell you. But the King never thought of stopping for an instant; not he! He lost first one slipper, and then the other; the cord and tassels of his dressing-gown 42 tripped him up, so that he fell and almost broke his nose; and finally his gun slipped from his hold and went crashing down over a precipice; but still the King climbed on and on, breathless but undaunted.

At length, at the very top of the mountain, as it seemed, the bird made a longer pause than usual. It lighted on a point of rock, and folding its wings, seemed really to wait for the King, singing, meanwhile, a song of the most inviting and encouraging description. Nearer and nearer crept the King, and still the bird did not move. He was within arm’s-length, and was just stretching out his arm to seize the prize, when it fluttered off the rock. Frantic with excitement, the King made a desperate clutch after it, and —

PART II

At eight o’clock the landlady knocked at the King’s door. “Hot water, Your Majesty,” she said. “Shall I bring the can in? And the Band desires his respects, and would you wish him to 43 play while you are a-dressing, being as you didn’t bring a music-box with you?”

Receiving no answer, after knocking several times, the good woman opened the door very cautiously, and peeped in, fully expecting to see the royal nightcap reposing calmly on the pillow. What was her amazement at finding the room empty; no sign of the King was to be seen, although his pink-silk knee-breeches lay on a chair, and his ermine mantle and his crown were hanging on a peg against the wall.

The landlady gave the alarm at once. The King had disappeared! He had been robbed, murdered; the assassins had chopped him up into little pieces and carried him away in a bundle-handkerchief! “Murder! police! fire!!!!”

In the midst of the wild confusion the voice of the Boots was heard. “Please, ’m, I see His Majesty go out at about five o’clock this morning.”

Again the chorus rose: he had run away; he had gone to surprise and slay the King of Coringo 44 while he was taking his morning chocolate; he had gone to take a bath in the river, and was drowned! “Murder! police!”

The voice of the Boots was heard again. “And please, ’m, he’s a sittin’ out in the courtyard now; and please, ’m, I think he’s crazy!”

Out rushed everybody, pell-mell, into the courtyard. There, on the ground, sat the King, with his tattered dressing-gown wrapped majestically about him. An ecstatic smile illuminated his face, while he clasped in his arms a large bird with shining plumage.

“Bless me!” cried the poultry-woman. “If he hasn’t got my Shanghai rooster that I couldn’t catch last night!”

The King, hearing voices, looked round, and smiled graciously on the astonished crowd. “Good people,” he said, “success has crowned my efforts. I have found the Golden-breasted Kootoo! You shall all have ten pounds apiece, in honor of this joyful event, and the landlady shall be made a baroness in her own right!”

“But,” said the poultry-woman, “it is my Shang – ”

“Be still, you idiot!” whispered the landlady, putting her hand over the woman’s mouth. “Do you want to lose your ten pounds and your head too? If the King has caught the Golden-breasted Kootoo, why, then it is the Golden-breasted Kootoo, as sure as I am a baroness!” and she added in a still lower tone, “There hasn’t been a Kootoo seen in the Vale for ten years; the birds have died out.”

Great were the rejoicings at the palace when the King returned in triumph, bringing with him the much-coveted prize, the Golden-breasted Kootoo. The bands played until they almost killed themselves; the cooks waved their ladles and set to work at once on the pie; the huntsmen sang hunting-songs. All was joy and rapture, except in the breast of one man; that man was the Second Musician, or, as we should now call him, the Chief Musician. He felt no thrill of joy at sight of the wondrous bird; on the contrary, he made his 46 will, and prepared to leave the country at once; but when the pie was finished, and he saw its huge dimensions, he was comforted. “No man,” he said to himself, “can eat the whole of that pie and live!”

Alas! he was right. The unhappy King fell a victim to his musical ambition before he had half finished his pie, and died in a fit. His subjects ate the remainder of the mighty pasty, with mingled tears and smiles, as a memorial feast; and if the Golden-breasted Kootoo was a Shanghai rooster, nobody in the kingdom was ever the wiser for it.

CHAPTER III

THE raccoon’s story was received with general approbation; and the grandmother, in particular, declared she had not passed so pleasant an hour for a very long time. The good woman was gradually becoming accustomed to her strange visitors, and ventured to address them with a little more freedom, though she still trembled and clutched her knitting-needles tighter when she heard the bear’s deep tones.

 

“It is really very good of you all,” she said, “to take compassion upon my loneliness. Before I came to this cottage I lived in a large town, where I had many friends, and I find the change very great, and the life here very solitary. Indeed, if it were not for my dear little Toto, I should lead quite the life of a hermit.”

“What is a hermit?” asked the bear, who had 48 an inquiring mind, and liked to know the meaning of words.

“It is a crab,” said the parrot. “I have often seen them in the West Indies. They get into the shells of other crabs, and drive the owners out. A wretched set!”

“Oh, dear!” cried the grandmother. “That is not at all the kind of hermit I mean. A hermit in this country is a man who lives quite alone, without any companions, in some uninhabited region, such as a wood or a lonely hillside.”

“Is it?” exclaimed the bear and the squirrel at the same moment. “Why, then, we know one.”

“Certainly,” the squirrel went on; “Old Baldhead must be a hermit, of course. He lives alone, and in an uninhabited region; that is, what you would call uninhabited, I suppose.”

“How very interesting! Where does he live?” asked Toto. “Who is he? How is it that I have never seen him?”

“Oh, he lives quite at the other end of the wood!” replied the squirrel; “some ten miles or 49 more from here. You have never been so far, my dear boy, and Old Baldhead isn’t likely to come into our part of the wood. He paid us one visit several years ago, and that was enough for him, eh, Bruin?”

“Humph! I think so!” said Bruin, smiling grimly. “He seemed quite satisfied, I thought.”

“Tell us about his visit!” cried Toto eagerly. “I have never heard anything about him, and I know it must be funny, or you would not chuckle so, Bruin.”

“Well,” said the bear, “there isn’t much to tell, but you shall hear all I know. I call that hermit, if that is his name, a very impudent fellow. Just fancy this, will you? One evening, late in the autumn, about three years ago, I was coming home from a long ramble, very tired and hungry. I had left a particularly nice comb of honey and some other little things in my cave, all ready for supper, for I knew when I started that I should be late, and I was looking forward to a very comfortable evening.

“Well, when I came to the door of my cave, what should I see but an old man with a long gray beard, sitting on the ground eating my honey!” Here the bear looked around with a deeply injured air, and there was a general murmur of sympathy.

“Your course was obvious!” said the raccoon. “Why didn’t you eat him, stupid?”

“Hush!” whispered the wood-pigeon softly. “You must not say things like that, Coon! you will frighten the old lady.” And indeed, the grandmother seemed much discomposed by the raccoon’s suggestion.

“Wouldn’t have been polite!” replied Bruin. “My own house, you know, and all that. Besides,” he added in an undertone, with an apprehensive glance at the grandmother, “he was old, and probably very – ”

“Ahem!” said Toto in a warning voice.

“Oh, certainly not!” said the bear hastily, “not upon any account. I was about to make the same remark myself. A – where was I?”

“The old man was eating your honey,” said the woodchuck.

“Of course!” replied Bruin. “So, though I would not have hurt him for the world” (with another glance towards the grandmother), “I thought there would be no harm in frightening him a little. Accordingly, I first made a great noise among the bushes, snapping the twigs and 52 rustling the leaves at a great rate. He stopped eating, and looked and listened, listened and looked; didn’t seem to like it much, I thought. Then, when he was pretty thoroughly roused, I came slowly forward, and planted myself directly in front of the cave.”

“Dear me!” cried the grandmother. “How very dreadful! poor old man!”

“Well now, ma’am!” said Bruin appealingly, “he had no right to steal my honey; now had he? And I didn’t hurt a hair of his head,” he continued. “I only stood up on my hind-legs and waved my fore-paws round and round like a windmill, and roared.”

A general burst of merriment greeted this statement, from all except the grandmother, who shuddered in sympathy with the unfortunate hermit.

“Well?” asked Toto, “and what did he do then?”

“Why,” said Bruin, “he crouched down in a little heap on the ground, and squeezed himself against the wall of the cave, evidently expecting 53 me to rush upon him and tear him to pieces; I sat down in front of him and looked at him for a few minutes; then, when I thought he had had about enough, I walked past him into the cave, and then he ran away. He has never made me another visit.”

“No,” said the squirrel; “he went home to his own cave at the other end of the wood, and built a barricade round it, and didn’t put his nose out of doors for a week after. I have a cousin who lives in that neighborhood, and he told me about it.”

“Have you ever been over there?” asked Toto.

“Yes, indeed!” replied the squirrel, “hundreds of times. I often go over to spend the day with my cousin, and we amuse ourselves by dropping nuts on the hermit’s head as he sits in front of his cave. I know few things more amusing,” he continued, turning to the grandmother, “than dropping nuts on a bald head. You can make bets as to how high they will go on the rebound. 54 Have you ever tried it, ma’am? sitting in a tree, you know.”

“Never!” replied the grandmother with much dignity. “In my youth it was not the custom for gentlewomen to sit in trees for any purpose; and if it had been, I trust I should have had more respect for age and infirmity than to amuse myself in the manner you suggest.”

The squirrel was somewhat abashed at this, and scratched his ear to hide his embarrassment.

The pause which ensued gave the raccoon an opportunity for which he had been waiting. He addressed the grandmother in his most honeyed accents: —

“Our ways, dear madam,” he said, “are necessarily very different from yours. There must be much in our woodland life that seems rough, and possibly even savage, to a person of refinement and culture like yourself. While we roam about in the untutored forest” (“Hear! hear!” interrupted the squirrel. “‘Untutored forest’ is good!”), “you remain in the elegant atmosphere 55 of your polished home. While we fare hardly, snatching a precarious and scanty subsistence from roots and herbs, you, lapped in intellectual and highly cultivated leisure, while away the hours by manufacturing gingerbread and – a – jam.” The raccoon here waved his tail, and gave Toto a look whose craftiness cannot be described in words.

Toto took the hint. “Dear me!” he cried. “Of course! how stupid of me! Grandmother, is there any gingerbread in the house? My friends have never tasted any, and I should like to give them some of yours.”

“Certainly, my dear boy,” said the good old lady; “by all means. I have just made some this afternoon. Bring a good plateful, and bring a pot of raspberry jam, too. Perhaps Mr. Coon would like a little of that.”

Mr. Coon did like a little of that. In fact, Mr. Coon would have liked the whole pot, and would have taken it, too, if it had not been for Toto, who declared that it must be share and share alike. He gave them each a spoon, and let them 56 help themselves in turn, observing the strictest impartiality.

The feast seemed to be highly enjoyed by all.

“Well, Bruin, how do you like jam?” asked Toto.

“Very much, very much indeed!” replied the bear. “Something like honey, isn’t it, only entirely different? What kind of creatures make it? Butterflies?”

“Lady makes it herself, stupid!” muttered the woodchuck, who was out of temper, having just tried to get a spoonful out of turn, and failed. “Didn’t you hear her say so? Butterflies never make anything except butter.”

The little squirrel sat nibbling his gingerbread in a state of great satisfaction. “Who’s to tell the story next time?” he asked presently.

“Parrot,” answered the raccoon, with his mouth full of jam. “Parrot promised ever so long ago to tell us a story about Africa. Didn’t you, Polly?”

The parrot drew herself up with an air of 57 offended dignity. “The gentlemen of my acquaintance, Mr. Coon,” she said, “call me Miss Mary. I am ‘Polly’ to a few intimates only.”

“Oh, indeed!” said the raccoon. “I beg your pardon, Miss Mary. No offence, I trust?”

Miss Mary unbent a little, and condescended to explain. “My real name,” she said, “is Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo; but, not understanding the subtleties of our African languages, I do not expect you to pronounce that. ‘Miss Mary’ will do very well; though,” she added, “I have been called Princess in happier days.”

“When was that?” inquired Toto. “Tell us about it, Miss Mary.”

“No, no!” interrupted the bear. “No more stories to-night. It is too late. We must be getting home, or the owls will be after us.”

“To-morrow, then,” cried Toto. “Will you all come to-morrow? Then we will hear the parrot’s story.”

The animals all promised to come on the morrow, and each in turn took leave of the grandmother, 58 thanking her for the treat they had had. The bear, after making his best bow, led the way towards the forest, followed by the raccoon, the woodchuck, the squirrel, the parrot, and the wood-pigeon. And soon the whole company disappeared among the branches.

CHAPTER IV

“I was born,” said the parrot, “in Africa.”

It was a lovely afternoon; and Toto’s friends were again assembled around the cottage-door. The parrot, as the story-teller of the day, was perched in great state on the high back of an old-fashioned easy-chair, which Toto had brought out for his grandmother. The old lady sat quietly knitting, with Bruin on one side of her, and Coon on the other; while Toto lay on the grass at her feet, alternately caressing the wood-pigeon and poking the woodchuck to wake him up.

When the parrot said, “I was born in Africa,” all the animals looked very wise, but said nothing; so she added, “Of course, you all know where Africa is.”

“Of course,” said the raccoon hastily; “certainly, I should hope so! We know where it is; if you come to that, we know where it is.”

“Coon,” said Toto, laughing, “what a humbug you are! How is Africa bounded, old fellow? Tell us, if you know so well.”

“North by the Gulf States, south by Kalamazoo, east by Mt. Everest, and west by the Straits of Frangipanni,” replied the raccoon, without a moment’s hesitation.

Miss Mary looked much disgusted. “Africa,” she said, “as every person of education knows [with a withering glance at the raccoon], is the exact centre of the universe. It is the most beautiful of all lands, – a land of palm-trees and crocodiles, ivory and gold-dust, sunny fountains and – ”

“Oh!” cried Toto eagerly, “excuse me for interrupting, Miss Mary; but are the sands really golden? ‘Where Afric’s sunny fountains,’ you know, ‘roll down their golden sands,’ – is that really true?”

“Certainly,” replied Miss Mary.

“Dear me, yes. A fountain wouldn’t be called a fountain in Africa if it hadn’t golden sands. It 61 would be called a cucumber-wood pump,” suggested the woodchuck drowsily.

“Toto,” said the parrot sharply, “if I am interrupted any more, I shall go home. Will that woodchuck be quiet, or will he not?”

“He will, he will!” cried Toto. “We will all be very quiet, Miss Mary, and not say a word. Pray go on.”

Miss Mary smoothed her feathers, which had become quite ruffled, and continued, —

“I was not a common wild parrot, – I should think not, indeed! My mother came of a distinguished family, and was the favorite bird of the great Bhughabhoo, King of Central Africa; and I, as soon as I was fully fledged, became the pet and darling of his only daughter, the Princess Polpetti. Ah! happy, indeed, were the first years of my life! I was the Princess’s constant companion. She used to make songs in my honor, and sing them to her royal father while he drank his rum-and-water. They were lovely songs. Would you like to hear one of them?”

All the company declared that it was the one desire of their hearts. So, clearing her throat, and cocking her head on one side, Miss Mary sang: —

 
“‘Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo,
Fairest fowl that ever grew,
Fairest fowl that ever growed,
How you brighten my abode!
How you ornament the view,
Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo!
 
 
“‘Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo,
You have wit and beauty, too;
You can dance, and you can sing;
You can tie a pudding-string.
Is there aught you cannot do,
Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo?’
 

“That was her opinion of my merits,” continued the parrot modestly. “Indeed, it was the general opinion.

 

“As I was saying, I was the Princess’s constant companion. All day I followed her about, sitting on her shoulder, or flying about her head. All night I slept perched on her nose-ring, which she always hung upon a hook when she went to bed.

“Ah! that nose-ring! I wish I had never seen it. It was the cause of all my misfortunes, – of my lovely Princess’s death and my own exile. And yet it was a lovely thing in itself.

“I observe, madam,” continued the parrot, addressing the grandmother, “that you wear no nose-ring. Such a pity! There is no ornament so becoming. In Africa it is a most important article of dress, – I may say the most important. Can I not persuade you to try the effect?”

“Thank you,” replied the grandmother, smiling. “I fear I am too old, Miss Mary, even if it were the custom in this country to wear nose-rings, which I believe it is not. But how was the Princess’s nose-ring the cause of your misfortunes? Pray tell us.”

The parrot looked sadly at the grandmother’s nose, and shook her head. “Such a pity!” she repeated. “It would be so becoming! You would never regret it. However,” she added, “you shall hear the rest of my sad story.

“The Princess’s nose-ring was, as you may infer 64 from the fact of my being able to swing in it, a very large one. She was a connoisseur in nose-rings, and had a large collection of them, of which collection this was the gem. It was of beaten gold, incrusted with precious stones. No other nose in the kingdom could have sustained such a weight; but hers – ah, hers was a nose in a thousand.”

“Pardon me!” said the raccoon softly, “do I understand that a long nose is considered a beauty in Africa?”

“It is, indeed,” replied the parrot. “It is, indeed. You would be much admired in Africa, Mr. Coon.”

The raccoon looked sidewise at his sharp-pointed nose, and stroked it complacently. “Ah!” he observed, “I agree with you, Miss Mary, as to Africa being the centre of the earth. Pray go on.”

“I need hardly say,” continued the parrot, “that the jewelled nose-ring was the envy of all the other princesses for miles around. Foremost 65 among the envious ones was the Princess Panka, the daughter of a neighboring king. She never could have worn the nose-ring; her nose was less than half an inch long, and she was altogether hideous; but she wanted it, and she made up her mind to get it by foul means, if fair ones would not do. Accordingly she bribed the Princess’s bogghun.”

“The Princess’s what?” asked the bear.

“Bogghun,” repeated the parrot testily. “The Princess’s bogghun! Don’t tell me you don’t know what a bogghun is!”

“Well, I don’t,” replied sturdy Bruin; “and what’s more, I don’t believe any one else does!”

The parrot looked around, but as no one seemed inclined to give any information respecting bogghuns, she continued, “The bogghun is a kind of lizard, found only on the island of Bogghun-Chunka. It is about five feet long, of a brilliant green color. It invariably holds the end of its tail in its mouth, and moves by rolling, while in this position, like a child’s hoop. In fact, it is used as a hoop by African children; hence the term ‘bogghun.’ It 66 feeds on the chunka, a triangular yellow beetle found in the same locality; hence the name of the island, Bogghun-Chunka.

“The bogghun is a treacherous animal, as I have found to my cost. The one belonging to my mistress was a very beautiful creature, and much beloved by her, yet he betrayed her in the basest manner, as you shall hear.

“The Princess Panka, finding that the bogghun was very fond of molasses candy, bribed him by 67 the offer of three pounds of that condiment to deliver the Princess into her hands. The plot was arranged, and the day set. On that day, as usual, the bogghun rolled up to the door after dinner, and the Princess, taking me on her shoulder, went out for her usual afternoon play. She caressed the bogghun, – ah! faithless wretch! how could he bear the touch of that gentle hand? – and then struck him lightly with her silver hoop-stick; he rolled swiftly away, and we followed, Polpetti bounding as lightly as a deer, while I sat upon her shoulder, undisturbed by the rapid motion.

“Away rolled the bogghun, away and away, over the meadows and into the forest; away and away bounded the Princess in pursuit. The golden nose-ring flashed and glittered in the sunlight; the golden bangles on her wrists and ankles tinkled and rang their tiny bells as she went. Faster and faster! faster and faster! The monkeys, swinging by their tails from the branches, chattered with astonishment at us; the wild 68 parrots screamed at us; all the birds sang and chirped and twittered, —

 
‘Come! come! tweedle-dee-dum!
See! see! tweedle-de-dee!
Hi! hi! kikeriki!
They have no wings, and yet they fly.’
 

And truly we did seem to fly, so swift was our motion. At length I became alarmed, and begged the Princess to turn back. She had never before gone so far in the forest unattended, I told her; and there was no knowing what dangers might lurk in its leafy depths. But, alas! she was too much excited to listen to my remonstrances. On and on rolled the treacherous bogghun, and on and on she bounded in pursuit.

“Suddenly, as we went skimming across an open glade, a sharp twang was heard: I saw a white flash in the air; and the next moment I was hurled violently to the ground. Recovering myself in an instant, I saw my lovely Princess stretched lifeless on the ground, with an arrow quivering in her heart!

“At the same moment the bogghun stopped; and out from the surrounding coppice rushed the Princess Panka and her attendants.

“‘Where is my molasses candy?’ asked the bogghun. Three of the attendants presented him with three one-pound packages; and thus in a moment I understood the whole villanous plot. The Princess Panka rushed to where Polpetti lay, and snatched the golden nose-ring from her lovely nose. Fastening it in her own hideous snub, she sprang to her feet with a shrill yell of triumph. ‘At last!’ she cried, – ‘at last I have it!’

“‘Hideous witch!’ I exclaimed. ‘You have no nose to wear it in! You are uglier than the blue-faced monkey, or the toad with three tails. The very sight of you makes the leaves drop off the trees with horror. You odious, squint-eyed – ’

“‘Catch that parrot!’ shrieked the enraged Panka. ‘Wring that parrot’s neck! Pull his feathers out! Let me get at him!’

“I rose in the air, and flying round her head, continued – ‘Snub-nosed, monkey-faced, bald-headed 70 [this adjective was not exactly correct, but I was too angry to choose my words], hump-backed Ant-eater!!!’ and with the last word, the most opprobrious epithet that can be applied to an African, I gave the creature a peck in the face that sent her tumbling over backwards, and flew off among the trees. A storm of arrows followed me, but I escaped unhurt, and flying rapidly, was soon far away from the spot.”

Here the parrot paused to take breath, having become quite excited in telling her story.

“Ahem!” said the woodchuck. “May I be permitted to ask a question, Miss Mary?”

“Certainly,” replied the parrot graciously. “What is it, Woodchuck?”

“Did I understand,” said the woodchuck cautiously, “that the bogghun never takes his tail out of his mouth?”

“Never!” replied the parrot. “Never, upon any occasion!”

“Then how,” asked Chucky, “did he eat the molasses candy?”

“Woodchuck,” said the parrot, with great severity, “the question does credit neither to your head nor to your heart. I decline to answer it!”

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