Part 2

“My servants would have whirled you back faster than you came, and dropped you on the rug again.”

“What servants do you mean, please?” said Jaques; “we didn’t see any.”

[Sidenote: LIKE A BIRD.]

“I will show you,” said the fairy, giving a light bound to the ground, and walking across towards the bicycles, which were modestly standing at one side of the bower. She had shoes of transparent glass, with buckles of lovely sapphire; but what astonished the boys most was, that the glass was not stiff, but obeyed the movement of her beautiful feet, so that her motion was splendid, the foot curving gracefully down as she stepped, reminding the boys of one of the large stately-moving birds they had seen at the Zoological Gardens. They gazed at her in amazement, as she smoothly glided; and she, observing their surprise, said, smiling—

“So you admire my shoes. I get them from the same man who supplied my sister fairy with those she gave to Cinderella. He’s the very best maker in Fairyland.”

[Sidenote: A PAGE OF PAGES.]

As she came near the bicycles, the little men made their bow as they had done to the boys, and then raising themselves off the ground, whisked round two or three times in the air, as if in great delight. The fairy tapped each of them with her wand, and at once they became handsome pages, older and bigger than Norval, dressed in dark-blue doublets and velvet caps, with pretty ruffs round their necks that looked transparent like glass; and, with their light-blue tights and silver shoes, they were very smart. Each stood leaning on the great gold wheel, which was all that remained of the bicycles.

“Oh,” said Jaques, “we didn’t know they were real; we half thought they were only funny machines like men,”—and turning to the other boys, added, “Must not we say ‘Thank you’ to them for all their trouble?”

“Of course,” said Norval; and each went up to his own page, and said, “Thank you very much.”

“That’s right,” said the fairy; and the pages smiled and made a bow—just an ordinary bow, not whirling round as they had done before, for, of course, pages cannot turn over of themselves.

[Sidenote: DINNER IS SERVED.]

“And now you must be hungry, dears, after your long journey,” said the fairy, giving a graceful wave of her hand towards the three pages. In an instant they were down on one knee with the golden wheels supported on their heads, like three lovely Dresden-china art tables, while their caps, which they tossed on the ground, grew and shaped themselves into silver stools. And how it came about the boys never could make out, but there was a neat little dinner laid out on the top of each wheel; and still more curious, each boy had his own favourite dish, only nicer to look at and better to taste than they had ever had it before. While they feasted, low strains of music sounded sweetly through the air, and a chorus of many voices, clear as the crystal brook, but gentle as its murmur, sang[1]—

[Sidenote: GOOD ADVICE.]

1.

“Boys of earth, be brave, be true, Linger not at vice’s call; Cords of love are drawing you, Chains that guide but not enthral. Break them not, their fragile lines Draw with strength the willing heart To the life that ever shines; Angels weep to see them part.

2.

Let the cords of love entwine Round the heart-strings day by day; Let the threads of silver shine, Guiding by the narrow way. Watch, lest thorns of pleasure’s bower Tangle in their tender strands; Guard, lest Mammon’s subtle power, Fray and loose their gentle bands.

3.

Worldling’s life is love’s decay, Pleasure’s slave hath joyless end; Squander not life’s fleeting day In the paths that downward tend. Follow truth and yield to love, Bravely keep the narrow way; Truth shall greet you from above, Love shall bring to endless day.

4.

Truth and love endure for aye, Silver love in truth shall hide, Golden truth for love doth stay— Truth the bridegroom, love the bride; Sun’s strong beam to moon’s soft ray, Truth and mercy met in one, Blend in everlasting day, And again the work is done.”

When the boys had dined, which they did with exceptional ease, as their knives and forks did not require to be handled, but performed their work neatly and deftly of themselves; and when the table-napkins had unfolded themselves, and touched their lips with deliciously scented water, the last strains of the song died away; and the fairy, who had herself sung the final verse in tones most winning, so that the boys had crept close to her, nestling under the caress of her arms, stooped down and kissed them tenderly.

[Sidenote: WHERE NEXT?]

“And now,” said she, “I know you want some fun, and quite right too. Those who go steadily in the right road are well entitled to a little diversion, and can enjoy it better than the boys who choose crooked paths. Now, where would you like to go?”

[Sidenote: WONDERFUL BLUNDER.]

“Oh,” said Norval, “we have a pass from Alice to let us into Wonderland.”

“Ah! Alice; I have heard of her, or rather I’ve heard her. She was the little girl that grew so big, was she not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when she got big, her voice got big too, and it was heard all over Fairyland.”

“But are there more places than one in your country?” asked Norval.

“Oh yes, dear, of course there are; we have Elfland, and Bogieland, and Spriteland, and Wonderland, and Blunderland, and many others. But let me see your pass.”

Norval produced it from his pocket.

“Why,” said the fairy, “this is not for Wonderland; it’s for Blunderland.”

And so it was, beyond all doubt, as may be seen by looking at this copy, faithfully and literally taken from the original writing:—

[Sidenote: A PRETTY PASS.]

[Illustration:

Addmit the b. arers to Blunderland

_Alice_]

“Oh, how stupid!” said Norval. “When I was writing it I said to myself, I will try not to make any blunder in spelling; and I must have written Blunder from thinking of it. What are we to do?”

“Never mind,” said the fairy; “there is plenty of good fun to be got in Blunderland, and you may just as well go there as anywhere else. So now good-bye, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves.”

[Sidenote: PLACE AUX DAMES.]

[Illustration]

Once more the lovely hand was waved—this time the arm in its graceful curve taking in every part of the palace of gold and flowers—when instantly a thousand fairies stood in one vast circle around, and gracefully bent low before their queen. Then with a bound each took her place opposite one of the trellises of the bower, standing with the right foot pointed, and waited for the signal to begin the dance.

[Sidenote: BELLES AND BELLS.]

[Sidenote: STARRING IT.]

The queen, with many a graceful turn, circled round the glittering ring of dazzling fairy brightness, waving one hand outwards to this fairy and the other inwards to that; and though there were a thousand of them, and she thus, in soft floating dance, went round all, yet it seemed to be done almost in the time that the eye could follow her; then with a bound she once more stood in the centre of the great bouquet, and having slowly drooped in a deep long curtsey, acknowledging the reverence of her subjects, sprang to her full height on tiptoe, and threw her hand above her head, holding a rose that she had worn at her breast, which burst out into the form of a star, scintillating with light of most dazzling brilliancy. This was the signal,—and in a moment, ching, ching, ching, ringa, ringa, ring, went the million little silver bells upon the skirts of the fairies, as they floated in graceful measure hand in hand. Then each laying hold on one of the supports of the dome, they raised it up, and danced round, carrying the canopy with all its myriads of flowers with them, faster and ever faster, till the eye could scarce follow the ever-shifting shades of dazzling colour,—the light from the queen’s hand, varying ever and anon, changing the whole scene from dazzling brightness to crimson glow, from green gold of sunset to soft purple of fading twilight.

The boys stood gazing in mute wonder and delight at the graceful motion of the queen and her fairies, having never seen any dancing but at a ball at home, where people rushed about, elbows meeting ribs, and strips of tulle and tarlatan torn and scattered about; or at a spectacle, where a pantomime fairy seemed trying to jerk off her shoes.

[Sidenote: GOOD-BYE.]

Presently the rapid thrilling ching-a-ring of the bells—through whose chiming a melody not to be described, but wonderful in its sweetness, caught the ear—became slower, the fairies to whom the queen had waved her hand outwards turned round, facing those to whom she had waved inwards; and out and in they glided, ever faster and faster, the trellis-work of the canopy unplaiting as they went, till the last crossing being undone, the fairies ranged themselves on opposite sides, the bars making one long, brilliant, golden-arched bower, the end of which seemed small in the far distance. Then the queen, with a merry smile that had something half-roguish in it, kissed her hand once more to the boys, saying—

“REMEMBER! BRAVE AND TRUE;”

and before they had time to think what was going to happen, the bouquet shaped itself into a magnificent chariot, the three golden wheels set themselves one in front and one at each side, the pages sprang up behind, and gliding like a flash down the golden bower, the chariot was lost to view.

[Sidenote: A SIGNAL SURPRISE.]

The boys were just going to set off running after it, when a tremendous

WHEEEEEEUuuuuuu-UGH

sounded from an approaching train, the station bell rang close to their ears, and a gruff voice above them shouted, “Train for Whackbury, Flogland, Dunbrown, Sillybilly, and Blundertown.” Not that it sounded like this, for it was spoken precisely as on all railways at home, and sounded just

“Train frwabryflugglindenbrunnsilblunblurtun.”

[Sidenote: EYE READY.]

[Illustration]

But that matters as little on fairy railroads as elsewhere. When the boys looked up they saw that the voice came from a policeman, about as tall as a three-storey house, and no thicker than a Maypole, standing with his arms sticking straight out, and who had an extra eye to safety, blazing red, both in front and at the back of his head. Just as they looked up, one arm flopped down to a slant, and an eye winked funnily from red to green, so that he was a caution to look at. The train now appeared dashing out of the tunnel (golden and bright no longer), going so fast that the boys thought it must pass the station, and were horrified when they saw the porters busily throwing down a quantity of black things like two-foot-long tadpoles on to the rails, and then, a little further on, a big, round, black ball.

[Sidenote: STOP THESE BUFFERS.]

“What’s that for?” said Jaques.

“Well, them’s stops. We goes about as fast as thought, so we checks and pulls our trains up the same way as they do trains of thought, with commas and colons.”

And sure enough the train, after crashing through the commas, came to a stand just as two funny little buffers, whose heads stuck out in front of the engine, seemed on the point of being black-balled by the full stop. It is true that the commas seemed not to be placed with any care, but just dropped down on the lines anyhow; still in this the system varied in no way from the mode in which commas are scattered about the lines of other great works as well as railways. In fact it seems to be the rule, that commas come as they like; and if they come upside down they can bring any amount of material to one work from another—a new proof that one of the greatest powers of the age is commars.

[Sidenote: A BLOWING UP.]

As the train came to a standstill, the policeman’s eye winked suddenly back from green to red, and his arm flew up again, while he shouted—

“Smash’ll, smash’ll, smash’ll.”

“Change furcrotnchipucklgublboranquklin;”

by which he meant, “Change for Crowtown, Cheepcackle, Gobbleboro’, and Quackland.”

The boys’ attention was called to the engine, by the station-master coming up in a rage to the driver, and stamping his foot on the ground, shouting, “Here’s the ninth day this week that you have come in punctually, when you know that it is against the rules. You must have a blowing up.”

“All right, sir,” said the driver, meekly; and mounting the engine, he quietly took his seat upon the safety-valve.

[Sidenote: ANOTHER.]

The boys, who had bought a little steam-engine with the savings of pocket-money carefully hoarded for many months, knew something of the danger of this proceeding from the printed directions sent with their engine, and Norval cried out, “Oh, don’t do that, or there will be a burst!”

[Illustration]

“All right, little un,” said the driver, “it’ll get me hup in the world.”

As he spoke he was shot into the air as high as the tall policeman’s head, and the boys shut their eyes in horror, thinking he must be killed. But on opening them again, to their surprise they saw him at his post, quietly buttering a piece of bread with wheel-grease, and taking a drink out of the engine’s oil-can.

“Are you not hurt?” asked Jaques, anxiously.

“Yes, ’urt in my feelin’s. It’s wery ’ard hafter getting so ’igh to have to come down to this agin; but we must take things has they comes or goes, has the man said when ’is ’ead flew hoff on bein’ axed to do so.”

[Sidenote: A POT-BOILER.]

[Illustration]

The engine did not appear to be more damaged than the driver by the explosion, and on looking at it, the boys were surprised to see that its boiler was shaped like a porridge-pot, with an immense porridge-stick stirring it by steam. There was a tender behind, which kept the engine up; for, as the driver said, in answer to one of the boys, “We keeps ’im coaled to keep ’im ot. My hengine begins to ’eat up when ’ee’s swallered two tons. In fact it’s with this coal ’ere that ’is bile is riz.”[2]

“And what have you got in the pot?” asked Ranulf.

[Sidenote: JUGGED ’ARE.]

The driver, who had just taken another pull at the oil-can, so long and full that the fireman had to beg him to leave some for the wheels, replied, “Don’t ye ax souperfluous questions.” But the fireman, picking up a big spoon like a warming-pan, plunged it into the pot, and held it down to Ranulf, saying, “There, you’ll find that ’ere souperfine stuff.”

“It ain’t ’are soup at all,” said the driver; “what are yer talkin’ about?”

“That’s just as well,” said Norval, “because one can’t live on air, of course.”

“I dunno that,” said the driver; “jugged ’are’s wery good stuff for dinner.”

“Oh, but,” said Jaques, gravely, “if we got nothing but a jug of air for dinner we would be just full of wind.”

He thought to himself, just as he said this, that perhaps this was the right thing for a driver of a puff-puff, as they called railway-engines in the nursery, but he did not like to say so.

[Sidenote: TICKETS FOR SOUP.]

After Ranulf had tasted the soup, Norval and Jaques had some, just as the porter came along the train calling out, “All tickets for soup ready, please; tickets reade-e-e-e. All tickets for soup ready, please.”

“But we haven’t got any tickets,” said Ranulf.

“Then,” said the porter, “where’s your fare?”

“Well, we had fairy fare a little ago.”

“But I mean railway fare,” said the porter.

“Oh,” said Norval, “we’ve just had it too, and first-class fare it was; at least it was fair fare.”

“All right,” said the porter; “but any boy who travels without his fare, or his ticket for soup, will be breeched for breach of the company’s pie-laws, remember that.”

[Sidenote: STOUT PORTER.]

He tried to look very fierce as he said this; but as his body looked like a barrel, with three big X’s upon it, and his head was a large pewter-pot, the boys could not help laughing, which Norval excused by saying, “I beg your pardon, but you do look so dumpy.”

“In coorse I does,” said he. “Porters no good that bean’t stout, you know.”

“Oh, but you’re so stout!” said Jaques.

[Illustration]

“No, I ain’t So’s stout,” said he; “I’m Dublin stout.”

[Sidenote: TURKEY CHANGING.]

“If you’re doubling stout,” said Norval, “that’s as stout as can be, isn’t it?”

“No, it ain’t. I’m more than that already. Don’t you know treble X when you see him?”

“Oh yes, I know now,” said Jaques. “I’ve heard papa say that X is an unknown quantity; and you’re three times him, are you?”

[Sidenote: FOWL LANGUAGE.]

The porter was off by this time at the door of a carriage, looking at tickets, so he gave no answer; and the boys’ attention was called off by the passengers that were changing for Crowtown, Cheepcackle, Gobbleboro’, and Quackland coming along the platform to cross the line. First came Sir T. Urkey, of Gobbleboro’ Hall, in a white hat, a red handkerchief sticking out from below it, a brown coat, and tight leggings. Next followed Mr Shanty Cleary, his wife Henny, and half-a-dozen little cheeps of the old block following. Mr Shanty Cleary’s head presented a most combical appearance, and all the young Clearys of the male gender took after their father in this respect. Last came M. U. S. Covy Drayck, Esq., the tails of whose coat curled up in a very funny way, and who carried his head very high, as if the whole country belonged to him, although he was rather bandy-legged and very flat-footed. He seemed altogether inclined to play the swell; and as they passed the boys, bobbed his head to one of the Miss Clearys, and said, “Oh you little duck!”

“Duck yourself,” said Mrs Cleary, with a most indignant sweep of her head; “my daughter’s no duck, Mr Imperence.” Mr Shanty Cleary himself stepped forward, with his head as high as he could; and looking as cocky as possible, was just opening his mouth to say something severe, when Sir T. Urkey turned back and said, “What’s the matter?”

“He’s giving my chick cheek,” said old Cleary.

“He’s trying to crow over me,” said Mr Covy Drayck.

“Come, Drayck, don’t be a goose,” said Sir T., “and behave yourself. You’re no chicken now, you know.”

[Sidenote: IMPUDENT QUACKERY.]

“Who asked you to interfere?” said the other, throwing back his neck as far as it would go, and waddling up to Sir T. in a most defiant manner.

Sir T. got purple in the face, and swelled out under his brown coat with rage, his red handkerchief slipping loose, and a long end of it hanging over his nose, nearly to his waist. He rushed at Mr Drayck, with his coat-flaps trailing on the ground, and tried to speak, but nothing came out except a gub-gubba-gubble-gubble-gubble. Mrs Cleary, seeing there would be a fight, screamed out, “Police! police!” as loud as she could. The tall policeman gave a horrible wink, showing the white of his eye, at which signal two other constables seized the ill-behaved Mr Drayck by the neck, and began to drag him to the engine.

[Illustration]

[Sidenote: POTTED.]

“What do you mean, you rascals?” said Mr Drayck.

“Means to pot you for breach of the pie-laws.”

“Where’s your warrant?” said Mr Drayck.

“Our pots is all Warrens,” said a constable, as they chucked him in.

“There,” said he, “you can commit breach of the peas in there if you like; they won’t split on you, for they’re all split already.”

“Take your seats,” shouted the guard (who had a whistle instead of a nose, and a big turnip fastened to his belt to tell the time by), as he ran up to the boys, “and mind you don’t get in right side first.”

“Why?” said Jaques.

“Because if you gits in right side afore, you’re sure to be left behind.”

The boys went along the platform to look for a carriage. The first they came to had a crown of a hat nailed on its side, and below in large letters—

[Sidenote: EXHASPIRATING.]

[Illustration: ’ERE V.R. AGAIN.]

Looking in they saw a king in a long robe, standing before a number of square holes (over each of which there was a letter of the alphabet), with an armful of letters, which he was cramming into the different holes. The H’s seemed to be very troublesome, for they were constantly getting dropped, and those that he managed to force into their place the boys saw slyly slipping out, and gliding into the holes of the vowels, so that, struggle as he might, he could not get them right. Once he caught an H with a corner of an I, just as it was trying to get in beside the O’s.

“Oh ho!” said he, “is that what you’re after?” seizing him firmly. But the H was determined, if he could not be where he ought not, that he would be dropped; and as the king held on tightly to him, over they both rolled together, the king tripping on his long robes, and coming down in a most undignified position. The H’s that were on the ground could do nothing, but those that had got in beside the vowels shouted with laughter.

[Sidenote: A DROP SCENE.]

“Ha, ha, ha!” came from A pigeon-hole.

“Hee, hee, hee!” from E.

“Ho, ho, ho!” from O.

Those that had got in beside the I’s laughed in a Hi key. The H’s that were in the U pigeon-hole alone remained silent, as they could only have called out Heu, which, as it means alas! they were not in the Humour to use.

The king made no attempt to rise, and looked as if he was much the worse of the drop he had had, and in great need of a Pick-me-up; so Norval put his foot on the step to get in and help him, but the king, observing his intention, waved his hand and said majestically—

“ROYAL MALE. NO ADMITTANCE.”

It was evident, however, that he was in great distress, for he called out “Oh!” several times, only the boys could not understand why he put other letters before it, so that it sounded like, “g. p. oh! g. p. oh! g. p. oh!”

“Get out of the way,” said a voice behind them; and a gorgeous officer, but who, strangely enough, wore canvas bags, and the orders on whose breast were money-orders, stepped in beside the Royal Male.

“Who’s that?” asked Jaques.

[Sidenote: WIFE-BEATING.]

“That’s General Pustoffus; we calls him G. P. O. for short; it’s him as looks after the Royal Male. He’s a queer sorter chap he is, the Royal Male. He takes up ’is ’ole time a pullin’ letters out of bags, and shoving ’em into ’oles; and when’s he’s tired o’ that, he takes them out of ’oles and shoves ’em into bags. And, besides that, there’s never a letter he gets that he doesn’t give the Queen’s ’ead a bang.”

“What a shame!” said Ranulf.