The Tale of Lal

by Raymond Paton

  CHAPTER III

  THE GOLDEN PAVILION

  Christine and Ridgwell never forgot the sight that met their eyes whenthe strange transformation took place. It was dazzling in its beautyand it was some seconds before they could realise the full wonder ofit. The dimness of the light changed to the most exquisiteilluminations imaginable.

  Christine and Ridgwell realised that the party was to take place in agorgeous golden pavilion.

  The fountains, which had slid to either end of the pavilion, shot upbrilliant globes of changing light which hovered in the air like tinycoloured air balls, whilst the tops of the fountains spraying a goldenmist, were echoed again in the lustrous glow of walls and roof.

  From the pearly dome whose outline was only faintly suggested overhead,and upon every side, hung myriad stacks of flowers, which now and againfell in fragrant jewelled showers upon the children, just as soon aseach blossom had grown into perfection.

  Upon a golden dais at one end were King Richard and King Charles cladin glittering silver armour, with Queen Boadicea arrayed in purple, inthe centre; whilst St. George stood beside them in shining goldensplendour.

  Ridgwell and Christine stood beside the Pleasant-Faced Lion uponanother dais immediately facing the royal personages. The Lion was nolonger a dull, copper green hue; his whole body had changed to thecolour of burnished gold and his great mane shone like a sun.

  Forty children dressed in the vermilion and black of Beef-eaters fromthe Tower with halberts in their hands, lined the way up the shallowgolden steps to each dais, twenty upon either side.

  The Lion gave his last orders for the ceremony--

  "Gamble, Grin, Grub, and Carry-on-Merry, sound the Merry Fanfare onyour silver trumpets!"

  The four little lions gaily arrayed in scarlet and gold advanced intothe centre of the great space and executed a remarkable fanfare, whichwithout being entirely a march, or wholly a waltz, was neverthelessdelightful to listen to.

  Immediately a procession of the most lovely children entered, dressedin every brilliant costume imaginable.

  The delicious fragrance of the scented golden mist, diffused from thetwo fountains, filled the air as the happy and beautiful children, boysand girls, danced into the pavilion. They all paused to bow to theRoyalty present, and St. George; then they advanced to where Ridgwelland Christine stood beside the Pleasant-Faced Lion.

  They greeted the Lion as an old acquaintance and blew him kisses asthey passed.

  As they moved along, glittering in costly silks and satins, winding inand out with the changing colours of a rainbow, Ridgwell spoke to theLion--

  "Lal, Christine and I have never seen so many lovely children before.Surely these are not the stray ragged children of London? Why, theirfaces are the colour of the new roses that are falling everywhere aboutus, and look how bright their eyes are!"

  The Lion smiled, then pointed to the scented golden spray beingshowered from the two fountains.

  "They look lovely as you see them," said the Lion, "because perpetualhealth, and love, and happiness are being diffused upon them from thefountains. Outside they were different," continued the Lion; "but herethe dark circles disappear from beneath their eyes, which become brightand full of love, as they ought to be, the little puckers of care andwant are sponged out of their faces by the spray from the fountain.The pallor of their faces changes to rosy health and beauty as itshould; the pinched look many of them wear, gives place to roundnessand the happy laughing curves of childhood that doesn't know or reckonof any care."

  "But, Lal, where do all these wonderful things come from?" questionedRidgwell; "the great canopy, the golden carpet, all the costumes andthe jewels?"

  The Lion chuckled. "They all come out of the fountains, straight fromthe warehouses of the merchants. The Dolphins bring them. Everythingcomes from the fountains."

  "You see," proceeded the Lion, "there is going to be plenty to eat anddrink and everything of the best." Once again the Lion pointed towardsthe two fountains: "See the eight golden dolphins with their goldentrays, they hand up delicious cakes, the best fruit, ices, lemonade,chocolates, sandwiches, anything you want."

  "Shall we have some of those delightful things to eat too?" askedRidgwell.

  "Oh, be reassured, my child," smiled the Lion, "the Dolphins won'tforget either you or Christine, they will dance up to you with theirtrays filled with everything you want."

  "If all those other children look so very beautiful, what do _we_ looklike?" Ridgwell asked the Lion in a whisper. "You see there are nolooking-glasses, are there?"

  For the first time the children remembered to look at one another.

  Christine was the first to speak, and it was with a cry of greatdelight she turned to Ridgwell--

  "Oh, Ridgie, you are lovely," said Christine.

  "Course he is," said the Lion.

  "I don't know about that," said Ridgwell hesitatingly. "I think youhave made a mistake in the excitement."

  "I've not," insisted Christine; "why, you look like a beautiful littlePrince."

  Here Ridgwell, who, overcome with modesty at these tributes, had beenexamining his jewelled shoe-buckles with downcast eyes, looked up athis sister.

  "Well, how about you?" exclaimed Ridgwell. "Why, you look like alovely fairy queen----"

  "Course she does," said the Lion.

  "Don't be silly, Ridgie," said Christine, severely.

  "I'm not," asserted Ridgwell. "I've never seen you look like that.Perhaps," added Ridgwell, "these glittering orders we wear round ournecks have something to do with it."

  "You're right," said the Lion, "the priceless Order of GreatImagination enables you to see everything that is beautiful as itreally is, and, of course, everything here is beautiful, so," added theLion logically, "why should you both be different from anything else?"

  The Lion beckoned to one of the Dolphins.

  "Here," said the Lion, as the Dolphin approached them, "hold up yourburnished golden tray and let the boy see himself."

  The Dolphin held up the polished tray and Ridgwell looked into itwonderingly.

  "My goodness," said the Lion, "I thought girls were vain, but boys areworse!"

  "That _can't_ be me," said Ridgwell.

  "Well, it isn't me," grumbled the Lion, "that's certain."

  Christine peeped over the shoulder of Ridgwell's golden tunic.

  "It's like us," said Christine, "but yet it isn't us at all."

  "That is what people always say when they see their own photographs forthe first time," observed the Lion wisely. "Ha!" broke off the Lion,"here come the dogs."

  "Have you placed the two long troughs at the far end for them?"demanded the Lion.

  "Yes," chorussed the little lions.

  "What have you filled them with?" questioned the Lion.

  "Finest mutton and chicken bones in one," laughed Carry-on-Merry,"water in the other."

  "Have you remembered their special strip of comfortable carpet?" askedthe Lion anxiously.

  "It's there," grinned Carry-on-Merry.

  "Why are the stray dogs to have a strip of special comfortable carpet?"asked Christine.

  "Because they like to pick the bones afterwards upon the carpet," saidthe Lion; "it's a little habit of theirs, and they are not so highlytrained as we are."

  A most extraordinary procession now made its appearance before them.The children might have thought it was a Noah's Ark, only the dogsadvanced in fours. Newfoundlands, St. Bernards, Mastiffs, Retrievers,every conceivable dog down to tiny fox terriers, Spaniels and Yorkshireterriers. They all looked very happy and their coats shone as if theyhad been lately washed and had afterwards dried themselves in thegolden rays of the warm sun, which even now seemed to linger over them.

  "Lovely creatures," said Christine.

  "Ripping," said Ridgwell, "they are dears."

  "Started to munch their bones already," grunted the Lion. "Well,they're not so highly educated as we are. A party to them is a party,and the
y don't wait for anybody, which, after all, is the proper thingto do. Where's the Griffin?" demanded the Lion of Carry-on-Merry,after that intelligent creature, having acted like a verger (a habit hehad probably acquired from a life-long proximity to Westminster Abbey),had shown all the dogs to their places along one side where thecomfortable carpet formed a sort of aisle.

  "Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Carry-on-Merry, "the Griffin is late."

  "He's always late," grumbled the Lion, "his head's weak, and he nevercan remember what time a party starts."

  "Here he comes," grunted Carry-on-Merry, "and, oh! my goodness, what_does_ he look like?"

  "Absolutely ludicrous as usual," said the Lion.

  The Griffin presented an intensely comical appearance. Wishing to keepup the dignity of the City, he had chosen for his party-dress a scarletLord Mayor's robe, edged with fur, which he had folded around himselfin an exceedingly ridiculous fashion.

  Upon his head, as he believed it to be becoming, he had placed jauntilysideways, an immense green dunce's cap from one of the children's giantcrackers, which the Griffin had pulled as he entered the doors.

  The Griffin had decided to adorn his front feet with strips of scarletflannel, because he declared that he had chilblains, and furthermore,his paws were exceedingly tender after his encounter upon the previousevening with St. George.

  It was thus that the Griffin ambled in trailing his Lord Mayor's robesbehind him, and smiling aimlessly from right to left upon everybodypresent.

  "Has everybody missed me?" sniggered the Griffin. "I fear I'm late!"

  "Nobody has missed you at all," retorted the Pleasant-Faced Lion.

  The Griffin looked hurt for a moment.

  "Oh, surely, Lal," entreated the Griffin; "_surely_ some one missed me!"

  "No," said the Lion firmly.

  The corners of the Griffin's mouth trembled.

  "Now then," said the Lion, sternly, "no emotion."

  "No! no! Lal," faltered the Griffin, "but when I think of that lovelysaying, 'Everybody's Loved by Some one'----"

  "There are exceptions to every rule," snapped the Lion.

  "Oh," sniggered the Griffin, "then it does apply even to me, for Imyself am an exception. There is only one of me," ended the Griffineagerly, "only one in all London."

  "Some things don't bear repeating," said the Lion.

  The Griffin's weak memory came to his aid at this awkward moment:

  "That must particularly apply to your last remark," simpered theGriffin.

  "You have heard somebody else say that," objected the Lion.

  "True," sniggered the Griffin, "and it will not be the first time thatthe remembrance of other people's sayings have passed for wit; and Ihave always so longed to be a wit," sighed the Griffin. "Don't youthink, Lal, that I might one day be a wit?" inquired the Griffinanxiously.

  "No," said the Lion, "I don't; you have none of the necessaryqualifications."

  Once again the Griffin's mouth trembled piteously.

  "Oh, Lal," implored the Griffin, "think, only think again."

  "I couldn't," answered the Lion, "some things don't bear thinkingabout."

  The Griffin, with two tears trembling in his eyes, clasped hisflannel-wrapped foreclaws together beseechingly and changed the natureof his supplication:

  "Very well, Lal, then perhaps as you have never seen me act, I mightarrange some theatricals and amuse the children and the companypresent. Of course," simpered the Griffin, "I should play the chieffunny part myself; wouldn't it be wonderful if I played the chief funnypart myself?"

  The Lion looked at the Griffin contemplatively for a second: "You willnever be funnier than you are now," remarked the Lion, "and we are notgoing to have any theatricals at all, the children are going to dance."

  "The very thing," agreed the Griffin. "I will lead them; I dance sobeautifully."

  "No," said the Lion firmly, "if any one leads them it will beCarry-on-Merry, but they won't want any leading at all. The best thingyou can do is to keep quite quiet and make yourself useful."

  "Oh, Lal, don't ask me to be useful," shuddered the Griffin. "It issuch a dreadful word, and _anybody_ can be useful."

  "You think so," said the Lion, as he smiled his wisest smile.

  "I must be something far better than that," remonstrated the Griffin,"and it has just struck me that I had better go round and find out fromeverybody what they would like me to do," and the Griffin moved offeagerly to gather the opinions of everybody present as to this mostinteresting point which concerned him so closely.

  "Always dying to show off," grunted the Lion. "You can see in theGriffin the absolute type of one who being weak in the head and totallyunable to do anything, is nevertheless always longing to show offbefore others, who are cleverer than himself."

  "Perhaps he will find somebody who wants him to do something,"suggested Ridgwell, hopefully; "but why didn't he want to be useful?"

  "Because the poor Griffin believes himself to be extremely ornamental,and therefore, like all conceited people, he will never be able to seehimself as he is in reality. He wishes to lead before he has been ableto learn."

  Carry-on-Merry, Gamble, Grin, and Grub had by this time fixed up astrangely decorated Maypole; it was nothing less than St. George'sPillar, but so bedecked with hanging flowers and brilliant silkencorded ribbons that the children had some difficulty in recognising itagain.

  Then the four laughing lions could be seen racing along with a mostwonderful piano-organ, into which Gamble, Grin, and Grub wereharnessed, whilst Carry-on-Merry turned the handle.

  It must at once be admitted that this particular musical instrumentdiffered very considerably from any piano-organ ever heard in thestreets, and it could never have come anywhere from the neighbourhoodof Saffron Hill.

  It discoursed the sweetest music in the nature of a dance tune that wasirresistible, and the feet of all the children present started in timeto it simultaneously.

  "Now, Ridgwell," said the Lion, "take Christine and dance with her. Orwould you sooner stay here and look on at the sight?"

  "I shall do both," asserted Ridgwell, "dance first and look onafterwards."

  "Good," assented the Lion; "an able definition of eating your cake andhaving it at the same time. Off you go then."

  "Won't the Kings, Boadicea, and St. George dance too?" asked Christine.

  "No, George doesn't dance," said the Lion, "neither do the Royalty;they graciously look on. I don't dance either, I do not consider itdignified, so I sit here, conduct the ceremony, and beat time to themusic with my paw."

  That dance was the wildest, gladdest, merriest thing the children everremembered, and the threads of golden light filtering through the flashof the coloured costumes as they wound in and out, added tints ofsplendour as of an ancient pageant.

  Who could keep from dancing to such an exquisite tune, and who couldhelp being glad when ropes of lovely flowers were being twined roundlovelier childish faces, flower-like themselves, flushed with gayexcitement, with perfect health, with gladness?

  Ribbons of changing light they threaded in and out, round and through,no one could tell how many times, and over all the golden scented dewof perfect health and beauty fell from the two fountains upon theup-turned faces.

  It is true the Griffin made several ineffectual attempts to breakthrough the laughing, whirling ring, under the impression that thecircle was incomplete without him, but Gamble, Grin, and Grub werealways at hand to pull him back, and prevent this amiable but mistakenintrusion.

  From the piano-organ which he turned so gaily, Carry-on-Merry found itwas necessary to caution the Griffin after his last frantic attempt tobreak through the ring of dancing children.

  "I want to dance," urged the Griffin.

  "I think you want a keeper," grinned Carry-on-Merry, "or a policeman orsomething, to keep you in order."

  The Griffin turned pale.

  "Oh! no," implored the Griffin, "not a _policeman_."

  "Well, then, behav
e," grinned Carry-on-Merry.

  "Very well," sulked the Griffin, "as I am not wanted I think I shall gohome and give a party to myself."

  "Don't go," grinned Carry-on-Merry, "I have thought of something youcould do presently."

  The Griffin flushed with delight.

  "Will it be something grand?" asked the Griffin breathlessly,"something that will show me off, something that will make me talkedabout, something so big that it won't be like anything else?"

  "Rather," grinned Carry-on-Merry; "you bet it won't be like anythingelse, at least," added Carry-on-Merry truthfully, "it won't be likeanything else I have ever known."

  "Oh, thank you, thank you," gushed the Griffin. "I could swoon withjoy, I feel so overwrought that I shall go to one of the fountains andask the dear Dolphins for some light refreshment."

  "No, you don't," instantly objected Carry-on-Merry, "the dance isnearly over, and the children are all going there immediately; youwould only be in the way, but," added Carry-on-Merry, with a wickedtwinkle in his eyes, "I have a much finer idea than that."

  "Really?" inquired the Griffin. "Really a fine idea?"

  "Ripping," responded Carry-on-Merry, as he mysteriously produced froman inside pocket of his royal scarlet coat a big white damask dinnernapkin.

  "What _can_ it be for?" simpered the Griffin; "and will it help to showme off to advantage?" he anxiously inquired.

  "Rather," said Carry-on-Merry. "Listen! Put this dinner napkin overyour face, sit in a corner and go to sleep. Now the _most_ remarkablething you could do in an assembly like this to attract attention, wouldbe to go to sleep."

  The Griffin for a moment looked dubious. "Then," said Carry-on-Merrywith a still more wicked gleam in his mischievous eyes, "I will tellevery one that you are 'The Sleeping Beauty' and everybody willimmediately want to see you."

  "How lovely," sighed the Griffin, "and I shall look the part and be thepart; in fact," added the Griffin, "I shall be _the_ thing of theevening."

  "_You will_," rejoined Carry-on-Merry enigmatically, "but that is notall. When I wake you up at last, of course all the children willlaugh."

  "What at?" inquired the Griffin suspiciously.

  "Why, for joy at the discovery."

  "Humph!" debated the Griffin, "only joy--not admiration?"

  "Oh, yes," glibly replied Carry-on-Merry, "admiration, of course, andthe sheer beauty of the thing. Ha! ha! ha!"

  "Yes, yes," eagerly interrupted the Griffin, "sheer beauty soundsbetter, sounds more like me."

  "Of course it does," laughed Carry-on-Merry. "Then perhaps I shall askyou to sing."

  "Oh! Carry-on-Merry," faltered the Griffin in a broken voice, "youhave touched my heart--that is the very thing I was waiting forsomebody to ask me to do. To sing," rhapsodised the Griffin--"to belike one of those great singers out of the opera, to pour out one'sheart tones, to be gazed at by every eye, to be listened to by everyear, to be the adored of all. How can I thank you? How can I repayyou?"

  "Don't, please," implored Carry-on-Merry, who appeared to be chokinginwardly, "don't thank me any more now, I can't bear it--some othertime."

  "Yet stay," cried the Griffin, with unexpected and dramatic suddenness,"who is going to kiss me?"

  "Kiss you?" echoed Carry-on-Merry blankly, "kiss you? Good gracious!I give it up."

  "Yet," pondered the Griffin, "somebody had to kiss the Sleeping Beauty!"

  "You won't find anybody to do it," said Carry-on-Merry decisively.

  "Why not?" asked the Griffin sharply.

  "I mean," amended Carry-on-Merry, "nobody could be found for the momentof sufficient importance."

  "Oh, I see," replied the Griffin, "yet perhaps Boadicea would oblige."

  "Out of the question," said Carry-on-Merry. "Besides you know shenever takes part in any--any--er--_festivities_ at all."

  "True," lamented the Griffin, "and yet assuredly I must be kissed forthe thing to be natural."

  Carry-on-Merry turned away his head, for Carry-on-Merry almost feltthat he could not trust himself to speak at that moment. Then one ofhis many bright ideas occurred to him. "I know," rapidly explainedCarry-on-Merry, "I have it; I will find some important personagepresent to give you a rap."

  "Where?" moaned the Griffin, "not on my knuckles. You know I cannotstand anything of that nature on my knuckles."

  "No--no----" grinned Carry-on-Merry. "I mean a tap, just a little tap."

  "I see," agreed the Griffin. "Very well, one little tap, a tap asdainty as if a feather had brushed me in my sleep."

  "Or a floating piece of thistledown," laughed Carry-on-Merry.

  "Oh yes," said the Griffin. "Thistledown sounds more romantic, andthen I shall wake from my dream."

  "I don't think myself you ever will," observed Carry-on-Merry, quite asif he were thinking of something else.

  "What!" said the Griffin. "Never wake?"

  "Yes, yes," interrupted Carry-on-Merry hastily, "but you have to go tosleep first, you know, and you had better hurry up whilst the childrenare eating, then you won't be observed."

  "But I want to be observed," objected the Griffin.

  "Of course you do," insisted Carry-on-Merry, "but that comes later on.Go at once."

  The amiable Griffin departed accordingly to carry out his part of theprogramme, and forthwith lumped himself in a distant corner, with thegrace of a camel who had found sudden and unexpected opportunities ofbenefiting his health through sleep. From this slumber the Griffinfound it necessary to rouse himself after a little while, upon hearingthe children all shouting his name. The entire party having partakenof the delightful refreshments provided according to the variousrequirements of their constitutions, were watching a moving series ofcinematograph pictures of London.

  One of the great golden spaces of the walls formed the screen, Gamble,Grin and Grub, full of laughter, manipulated the cinematograph machine,whilst Carry-on-Merry gaily pointed out the pictures with a big goldenwand.

  All the children loved the pictures, for they were faithful portraitsof themselves as they appeared every day in the London streets, whenthey were not arrayed in gorgeous robes for a Princely Party.

  The streets they knew only too well but yet they loved them. Were theynot always in the streets--were they not passing every day of theirlives the very scenes they were now watching flung upon the screen?The picture being shown at the moment the Griffin heard his namecalled, was a Royal Procession passing Temple Bar.

  Instantly the children recognised the Griffin and called him by name.

  The Griffin awoke, saw himself being shown upon the moving picturefilm, and gave a shriek of delight.

  "Stop! oh, stop!" shrieked the Griffin, as he ambled across toCarry-on-Merry and seized the Gold Wand. "Please don't hurry past thisbeautiful picture. Of course," cried the Griffin with a silly laugh,"of course it's me, _ME_ with Royalty passing me. Is it notbeautiful?--you can all see for yourselves. I am sitting higher upthan Royalty itself. Notice the way the Royal personages bow and laughas they pass me."

  "They laugh right enough," agreed Carry-on-Merry.

  "Eh?" said the Griffin suspiciously.

  "The Griffin ought to have been a showman," observed the Pleasant-FacedLion.

  "Now we pass on to the next picture," called Carry-on-Merry.

  "Oh, _don't_ hurry," implored the Griffin. "Don't pass the mostbeautiful of all the pictures in such haste."

  "_Next_ picture," laughed Carry-on-Merry.

  The Griffin, after bestowing a hurt look upon Carry-on-Merry, retired,and again composed himself for sleep.

  His slumber this time was not destined to be of long duration.

  A grey sombre figure suddenly strode into the brilliant flower-drapedpavilion; a slouch hat made the figure look very sinister, and a swordclanked at his side.

  The figure strode on and scowled darkly at King Richard sittinggracefully upon his charger. "Ho! ho!" called the sombre man in a loudvoice. "Ho! ho!" he repeated with a mirthless l
augh.

  King Richard neither moved not took the faintest notice.

  On strode the figure towards King Charles seated upon his charger, andwho was regarding the children with the pleasantest expression possible.

  "Ha!" shouted the figure as it strode along. "Ha! I say, Ha!"

  King Charles still smiled gravely and took no notice. The stridingfigure that shouted "Ha!" might never have uttered a word for all thenotice King Charles took of him.

  "Ha!" shouted the figure for the last time.

  Then, seeing that nobody took any notice of him, the figure lookedglum, and folding his arms espied the Griffin peacefully asleep, thewhite dinner napkin covering his fond, foolish face, waiting to beawakened, so the Griffin fondly hoped--awakened by a gentle tap asBeauty. The Griffin's slumber seemed to annoy the sombre manintensely, for without uttering a syllable he drew his sword and smotethe Griffin hard upon the red flannel paws that were folded with a viewto pictorial effect beside the Griffin's covered face.

  There was a shriek of anguish, and the Griffin awoke.

  The pain the Griffin suffered from the blow upon his tender paws was asnothing compared to the blow to the Griffin's feelings when he realisedthat his ineffably touching picture of the Sleeping Beauty had beenspoiled for the evening. A great surge of sudden hatred swept over theGriffin at the swaggering intruder who had dared to strike him, andsimultaneously the Griffin remembered something he had once heard saidby a man in blue wearing a helmet close to where he always stood inFleet Street.

  The Griffin seized Carry-on-Merry's golden wand for the second timethat evening and approached the sombre man of the top boots and theslouch hat menacingly. "Move on," shouted the Griffin, giving alifelike imitation of the man in blue with a helmet. "Move on, d'yehear?"

  The sombre figure backed a little way in astonishment.

  "Move on," said the Griffin, "out of this; we don't want you here.Orff you go!" The sombre figure retreated a little more. "If I catchyou here again," said the Griffin pompously, "I will run you in; noloafing here!" The sombre man gave one scowl, sheathed his sword witha clank, and hurriedly took his departure without once looking back oruttering any further remark.

  "Bravo!" muttered the Lion, "that is the first useful thing the Griffinhas done all the evening."

  "Who was that dismal looking man muffled up like a brigand?" askedRidgwell.

  The Lion smiled. "That was Oliver Cromwell. He came to try and spoilthe party."

  "Why?" asked Ridgwell.

  "He doesn't like the extravagance," said the Lion; "he hates anydisplay, and cannot bear to see children happy."

  "Thank you, Griffin," said Christine.

  "Listen, all of you," simpered the Griffin, "some one has thanked me.Oh! Fancy anybody thanking _me_. Has everybody heard me publiclythanked?" asked the Griffin anxiously.

  "Yes, everybody," said the Lion; "we don't want any more of it."

  The Griffin looked sulky.

  "As long as everybody knows what I did," said the Griffin. "Nobodyelse thought of doing it. Do you think it was better than my being theSleeping Beauty?" inquired the Griffin eagerly.

  "Yes," replied the Lion, "it was more realistic."

  "Fancy that, more realistic! how beautiful!" and the Griffin sidledaway, sniggering with self-gratified pride at his own achievement.

  "I am afraid," explained the Lion to Christine and Ridgwell, "that heintends to sing."

  "But can he sing?" inquired Ridgwell.

  "No," said the Lion, "it is a wretched performance; yet, like all otherpeople who cannot really sing, he is dying to be asked to do so, and Ifeel sure that some one will be misguided enough to ask him. You see,"explained the Lion, "the Griffin cannot sing in tune, but like mostpeople afflicted in the same way, he is totally unconscious of hisfailing, and really believes his own singing to be quite beautiful."

  Christine and Ridgwell both laughed. "It must be very funny," theysaid.

  "It is so funny," answered the Lion, "and so deplorable at the sametime that it is almost beyond a joke."

  Almost before the Lion had finished speaking Carry-on-Merry, with aparticularly wicked laugh, danced to the centre of the bright ball-roomand said he thought that perhaps the Griffin might be persuaded to sing.

  "I thought so," groaned the Lion.

  The Griffin gurgled with pleasure, and immediately started to look coy,and playfully tap the golden carpet spread upon the ground with hisforepaws, as if he had suddenly discovered some new beauty in thepattern of the luxurious floor covering.

  "Really," said the Griffin, "I do not think I could. Oh! really _no_."

  "Showing off," grunted the Lion; "he'll sing in the end, safe enough.Worse luck!"

  "With all these beautiful singers here," smirked the Griffin, "to ask_me_. Oh!--really!"

  "Oh, please sing," everybody murmured politely.

  "Oh--oh!--really," simpered the Griffin, trying in vain to blush. "Yousee, I am not perhaps in my usual form."

  "What on earth will it be like, then?" ventured the Lion.

  "I am sure you will honour and delight the company," laughedCarry-on-Merry, with his wickedest laugh.

  "Besides," demurred the Griffin hesitatingly, "I have two chilblainsand such tender paws, I don't think I could really."

  "We did not ask you to _play_," interrupted the Lion shortly.

  "No, no," replied the Griffin hastily, "to sing--I understand. Yes, tosing. Oh--fancy asking _me_ to sing. Well, well, perhaps a few bars."

  "Now we are in for it," said the Lion, "and I don't suppose you willever hear anything like it again."

  "I do so want to hear the Griffin," said Ridgwell, "and I really cannotthink what it will be like."

  "Like?" echoed the Lion, "it will be like the effect of the first earlygooseberries of the year without sugar or milk; it will be like slatepencils squeaking upon slates; like a trombone that somebody islearning to play for the first time. However, nothing short of anearthquake will stop him now, for, as I tell you, he is simply dying tosing the moment he thinks anybody at all will listen to him, and thathe can show off. However," added the Lion, "when it gets beyond allhuman endurance, I make a sign to Richard I. Now the Griffin isterribly frightened of Richard I."

  "Why?" asked both the children.

  "Because the Griffin is afraid that Richard will advance and hit him onthe paws with the big sword he carries."

  "And will he?" asked the children.

  "Yes," said the Lion, "if it gets too bad."

  Everybody stopped talking now, for the Griffin, after much furtherpressing, had made up his mind what he was going to sing. He decidedto make a start in a key which was indescribable, and with a voice thatresembled the twanging of a banjo that had not been tuned.

  And thus the Griffin sang--

  "Of a merry, merry king I will relate Who owned much silver, gold and plate, And wishing to be up-to-date Within his city, Placed a handsome Griffin outside the gate, A creature pretty.

  "Yet one thing, the merry, merry king forgot That it would be his Griffin's lot To be very, very cold, or very, very hot, High up in Fleet Street. So slowly the faithful creature got Chilblains upon his feet.

  "The Griffin grew prettier day by day Directing the traffic along each way, With always a pleasant word to say All along Fleet Street. One trouble alone caused him dismay, His very tender feet.

  _Chorus--_

  "Oh! my poor tender feet! Of what use are England's laws, Unless they protect my claws And keep me warm in the street? Nothing so young and fair, Ever sniffed Fleet Street air, Ever sang like the Dove-- And--All that I ask is love."

  At this point the Griffin was so overcome by his own performance thathe burst into tears; and despite the excessive hilarity of every onepresent, to say nothing of Carry-on-Merry, who was rolling upon thefloor in his mirth, the Griffin continued to sob, and from time to timewiped away the big te
ars that rolled down his cheeks with the fur uponthe Lord Mayor's mantle that he wore.

  "It always affects me," sobbed the Griffin.

  "Yes," answered the Lion, "it has affected all of us strangely."

  "Nearly been the death of me," gulped Carry-on-Merry.

  "I think I will go home now," said the Griffin, as he surreptitiouslywiped away the last tears and prepared to depart.

  "Oh, don't think of leaving us yet," said the Lion.

  "Very well," sniffed the Griffin; "perhaps I may be asked to singagain."

  "Not if I know it," whispered the Lion in an undertone; "oneperformance of that nature is quite sufficient for one evening."

  At this moment Carry-on-Merry announced that the dogs, wishing toreturn thanks for the general pleasantness of the party, and beingunable to sing themselves, had deputed one of their number, a mostintelligent bob-tail sheep-dog, to compose an ode.

  This particular dog, it was thought, had some claims as a poet, sincehe was a lineal descendant of the canine companion who invariablyaccompanied Robert Burns in all his wanderings.

  The three laughing little lions would now sing the ode the bob-tailedsheep-dog had composed, with the general permission of the company.

  "Let us hear it," said the Lion.

  "Oh! fancy singing after me," remarked the Griffin.

  "Yes," agreed the Lion, "it shows great courage."

  Gamble, Grin, and Grub arranged themselves in order, and Gamblecommenced--

  "Cross Chelsea Bridge, by Chelsea town There is a place called Battersea. The very name to Christian dog's Will make them shudder fearfully."

  Here Grin took up the solo.

  "A place where gloomy prison doors Do shut up homeless dogs If ever they get lost, or stray During the London fogs."

  Grub hereupon came forward.

  "When once inside that citadel Within three days or four, They send you to a dreadful room Where you never bark no more."

  Then came the Chorus--

  "Pleasant-Faced Lion, our thanks to thee For having avoided Battersea."

  "Very well sung," admitted the Lion. "I suppose that, being always soclose to Westminster Abbey, the little lions have taken some usefulhints from what they have heard going on inside.

  "The time has come for the party to finish," announced thePleasant-Faced Lion, "but before it is ended----"

  "Has it got to end now?" Ridgwell asked wistfully.

  "Everything has to come to an end some time," replied the Lion quietly,"from ices and parties to empires and the world. However," he addedencouragingly, "one can always look forward to some possible andpleasant continuation of almost everything, although, perhaps, ondifferent, not to say advanced lines. Before you children go I shallbe able to show you the most wonderfully coloured transformation sceneyou have ever witnessed. Watch carefully the long wall of the Pavilionwhich you are facing," commanded the Lion.

  Carry-on-Merry romped up at this moment laughing as merrily as when theevening commenced.

  "Time?" inquired Carry-on-Merry.

  The Pleasant-Faced Lion nodded.

  "Yes, now," he said.

  Slowly the golden wall and the roof with its masses of brilliantlyhanging flowers seemed to fade away.

  The children knew it was Trafalgar Square they were looking at onceagain, yet a Trafalgar Square transformed out of all resemblance to itsusual familiar aspect.

  As the walls appeared to drop before their eyes a brilliant goldenbungalow palace with the children dressed as Scarlet Beefeaters groupeddown its shining steps glimmered through the rose-pink light in whichthey beheld it. Surely it could not be the National Gallery!

  All the children present passed and repassed before it in theirdazzling costumes, making vivid splashes of colour, as changeful and asfascinating as a kaleidoscope.

  The fountains still sprayed their mists of violet, amethyst and gold.

  "Mark the changing colours well," said the Lion, "and take in all thepicture well, for you will not see it ever like this again."

  The happy fresh voices of the children were still singing with a rareoutburst of melody--

  "Pleasant-Faced Lion, our thanks to thee, For all your hospitality."

  "Amen!" said the Lion. "Come, Ridgwell and Christine, jump on!"commanded the Lion, as he sank down in order to enable the two childrento get on his back. "Home now!"

  Both the children looked back many times, of course. They saw thegolden bungalow palace for the last time in all its changing lights.Noticed that Queen Boadicea stood majestically upon the topmost stepwith King Richard upon one side of her and King Charles upon the other.St. George stood with his armour flashing a few steps below. The fourmerry dogs were gathered around him, whilst Carry-on-Merry was restinghis laughing head in one of St. George's hands.

  The coloured lights grew paler, a mist danced before their eyes, thentwinkled and disappeared.

  "It is gone," said Ridgwell, "and oh! how dark the streets look now!"

  "But _what_ a party," said Christine.

  "And what a feast," added Ridgwell.

  "Yes," replied the Lion philosophically, "it is really remarkable howtimes have changed. In the olden days, long, long ago, everything wasreversed. For instance, it was the Lions who were then provided withthe feast, and the children who were eaten."

  "Horrid!" shivered Ridgwell. "You mean, Lal, those wicked RomanEmperors who let the poor Christians be eaten?"

  "My child," announced the Lion gravely, "free meals have invariablybeen productive of much unpleasant discussion and inquiries afterwards.But see now," he added coaxingly, "the perfect state of perfection theworld has arrived at. The Pleasant Lions give the banquet themselvesnow. Every single thing to-night was provided by Lions. I gave theparty--I, the Pleasant-Faced Lion. The four laughing lions fromWestminster helped. Richard Coeur-de-Lion presided, and Messrs. Lyonsprovided all the refreshments."

  "Any rate, Lal," observed Ridgwell, "although Christine and I both loveyou, of course--lions must have been very cruel and savage once,otherwise they wouldn't have _thought_ of eating anybody, would they?"

  "Ah, my little boy," replied the Pleasant-Faced Lion softly, "if youwere kept without food for days and days I wonder what you would do."

  "Tuck in like mad the first chance I got," announced Ridgwell withconviction.

  "Perhaps the lions did the same thing," observed Lal gently. "However,I feel I cannot offer any excuse for their past conduct; yet,"continued the Pleasant-Faced Lion wisely, as he jogged contentedly on,homewards towards Balham, "I have a fair proposition to make to you,although it may seem somewhat in the nature of a riddle to you both atthe present moment."

  "What is it?" asked the children in a breath.

  "Suppose," said the Lion--"I only say suppose--both of you ever had achance of eating me, of--ahem! in short, devouring your old friend Lal,would you do it?" asked the Lion, with an odd tremble in his voice.

  The question seemed to be so odd, not to mention out of place, thatboth the children laughed.

  "Why, Lal," chuckled Ridgwell, "how ridiculous you are. How couldChristine or myself ever possibly eat even a little bit of you?"

  "No," answered the Lion, "I believe you are both little Christianchildren, and yet," he added with a sigh, "you might both becomePagans."

  "What's a Pagan?" asked Ridgwell.

  Again the Lion sighed. "My child," he said, "you have a very greatdeal to learn, and among the many things at present hidden from you isthe fact that both you and Christine will see me once again and onceonly."

  "Where?" asked the children.

  "At your home in Balham."

  "Good gracious," said Ridgwell, "will you knock at the hall door?"

  "No," said the Pleasant-Faced Lion.

  "Or appear sitting in the raspberry bushes in the garden?" venturedChristine. "If so, you will spoil them, you know!"

  "No," said the Lion, "certainly not."

  "Then how will you come?" asked
Ridgwell.

  "You will see me again once more," asserted the Lion, "in three daysfrom now, and moreover inside your own home."

  "Three days from now is Ridge's birthday," ventured Christine; "ofcourse, it would be very nice to see you, but I do wonder how you willcome, and I do wonder how we shall be able to explain you away."

  The Pleasant-Faced Lion laughed his gruffest laugh.

  "I don't think you could very well _explain_ me away, little Christine."

  "Suppose you sat on the hearth-rug and people seemed a little distantor awkward?" commenced Ridgwell.

  "Yes," broke in Christine, "or some of those dreadful long pausesoccurred when nobody speaks and every one looks at every one else andfeels uncomfortable--would you _say_ something?"

  "Yes," said the Lion. "I have plenty of tact, but really there won'tbe any need," and the Pleasant-Faced Lion again chuckled softly tohimself.

  "There is only one thing I want you to do," said the Pleasant-FacedLion, and he still seemed to be choked with merriment as if a suddenidea had occurred to him.

  "What is it, Lal?" inquired both the children.

  "Upon Ridgwell's birthday night, before you both go to bed, I want you,Ridgwell, to remember a little rhyme and say it to yourself."

  "A hymn?" asked Ridgwell.

  "Not exactly a hymn."

  "After we have said our prayers?"

  "Certainly," replied the Lion obligingly, "any time before you go tobed will do; will you promise to remember?"

  "Of course, Lal."

  "Well, this is the little rhyme," whispered the Lion mysteriously; andsomehow it seemed to Ridgwell as if the Lion was still laughing at himas he repeated the following extraordinary rhyme--

  "Christian child or Pagan child, Which is my denomination, Have I eaten dear old Lal In my birthday celebration?"

  Ridgwell repeated the mysterious rhyme after the Lion, then he shookhis head.

  "Don't understand it, do you?" grinned the Lion.

  "Not a bit," answered Ridgwell.

  "I give it up, too," said Christine.

  "Are you laughing at us, Lal?" inquired Ridgwell anxiously.

  "Ah!" said the Lion, "I wonder; however, he who laughs last, laughslast; that saying is true without a doubt; and," he concluded with achuckle, "I bet you both anything you like that I have the last laugh.In fact, one day when you pass me you may hear me laugh, although Ishall never speak to either of you again in public. And that remindsme of something I want to warn both of you about particularly. Neverappear to notice me in public or speak to me whenever you chance topass me in Trafalgar Square; you would only collect a crowd, make mevery uncomfortable, and convey the unfortunate impression to everybodywithin earshot that you were mad. The same thing applies toCarry-on-Merry; he has a most provoking face, and the happy laughalways to be seen upon it might tempt you both to suppose that he waslistening; now mind you never give way to the temptation of addressingeither of us in public, and never refer to anything that has happenedeven in private, for you will only be misunderstood. Remember,"concluded the Lion, "that the Great Order of Imagination is only givento a very few people; those who do not possess it do not understand it.See, your own has faded already!"

  Both the children clasped their hands simultaneously to their neckswhere the glittering order had hung and shone only a few minutes before.

  Then they stared blankly at the place where it had been. Alas! theluminously lighted jewels of the order were no longer there.

  "Oh, Lal," said Ridgwell, "shall we never have it again?"

  "Only the memory of it," replied the Lion gently; "that never fades."

  "Only the memory," echoed Ridgwell thoughtfully.

  "Nobody can ever take that away from you," said the Lion.

  "Did any other little boy ever have the Great Order of Imagination,Lal?"

  "Yes," said the Lion, "there was _one_ who had the highest and greatestorder of all, the Pure Soul of Imagination itself." The Lion pausedand seemed to be thinking.

  "Where is he now?" whispered Ridgwell, for unconsciously he seemed tohave lowered his voice.

  The Lion lifted his great and noble head, and looked upwards towardsthe silver stars above them. The Lion shook his head doubtfully, andthe children noticed that there was something very like a tear in hiseyes.

  "I don't know which particular star," said the Lion, "but somewherethere, I think; but then, you see, I'm only a Pagan."

  The Lion stopped and purred; they were outside the familiar windows oftheir own home.

  "Oh, Lal," whispered the children, "how shall we remember all we'veseen to-night; how shall we be able to think about it and go through itall again, if the Order of Imagination has been taken away from us andif we are never to speak to you again, and only to see you once more?Even then you cannot tell us _how_ we are going to see you."

  The Lion smiled. "I can arrange that easily. Be of good heart, littleRidgwell and Christine. I know a writer--he comes and talks to me atnight sometimes, though I never answer him--and I will suggest hewrites it all down for you. I can ask him things without saying aword."

  "Will you?" pleaded the children. "Oh, please ask him, Lal!"

  "Yes," said the Lion, "I will; good-night."