In the Mist of the Mountains Part 21

"I didn't," said Lynn indignantly.

"Yes--'young and thin,' that's the same thing," said Pauline. "Now get on to something else. What about the key?"

"'The key lay on the ground'," said Lynn resignedly, "'and sparkled in the darkness'."

"Keys _don't_ sparkle in the darkness, but go on," said Paul, writing away.

"This one did," persisted the poor little auth.o.r.ess; "the fairies had smeared it with that phis,--phos,--oh, you know, that lovely shiny stuff we saw on the sea at night when we were in the ship."

"I know," shouted Max; "lat-poison, like they put down at the tables to kill the lats."

"It wasn't," said Lynn angrily,--"rat-poison indeed,--it was like burning gold."

"Go on," said Pauline wearily.

"'Su'nnly out of a snow-white lily stepped a beautious fairy. She had----'"

Scratch, scratch went Pauline's pen over a couple of pages; the fairy's eyes were described and likened to stars and other shining things; her ears, her teeth, her neck, her arms and hands were all lingeringly and lovingly enumerated and described.

Max went back disgustedly to his digging for fire.

m.u.f.fie nearly fell asleep, Pauline's hand grew cramped, and still the fairy continued to "have" things.

"'Her dress was of silver spider's silk studded all over with dewdrops'," went on Lynn, beginning now energetically upon every detail of the wardrobe of the "beautious" being.

And Pauline bore even with this, though she heaved a huge sigh of relief when from crown to shoes the entire toilette of the fairy had been dealt with.

But Lynn held her, like the ancient mariner, with a glittering eye.

"'She was followed by six handmaidens'," she said, "'and the first one had----'"

But here Pauline struck. The prospect of describing six more beauteous beings and their toilettes was more than she could contemplate.

"You've had your amount," she cried; "mine only took five pages, and I've done five for you." And despite Lynn's wild entreaties, she wrote "The End" at this point of the story, and shook m.u.f.fie and informed her it was her turn.

m.u.f.fie yawned.

"'Oncepon a time'," she said.

"Go on," said Pauline.

"'Oncepon a time there was'----"

"I've got that, be quick," said Paul.

"'Oncepon a time there was a--a----'" m.u.f.fie looked appealingly at Lynn.

"A fairy?" suggested Lynn.

"A little dog?" said Max who had strolled back.

"Yes, a little dog," said m.u.f.fie gratefully.

"Go on, I've got that," said Paul.

"'Oncepon a time there was a little dog and it--it----'"

"Was really a fairy under a enchanting spell?" whispered Lynn.

But m.u.f.fie was too sleepy to rise to the occasion. She repeated her formula once more in the hope of helping herself.

"'Oncepon a time there was a--a dog--and it--it----'"

"Barked?" said Max.

"Yes," said m.u.f.fie thankfully. "That's all, Paul--write it big, and it will make a lot. Le's go and see if tea's ready."

"I haven't lote _my_ book," said Max, and looked ready to cry.

"Don't be so mean, m.u.f.fie; sit down and wait," said Pauline. "Come on Max, darling, Paul will write yours the neatest of all. Now then."

Max thrust his hands into his ridiculous pockets and stood with his legs well apart. He always told the same cla.s.s of story though the variations were several.

"Well," he said slowly, "''was a ittle boy, an' him said to hims mover, can I go down in the deep foresh all by myself, an' she told him no.

And'"--here Max paused very impressively till he had collected the eyes of all his audience--"'he went. An' he walked along, an' he walked along, an' he walked along, an' he met'"--another pause, calculated to thrill his listeners--"'a snake. An' it clawled light up him an' it ate him all up. Evly bit of him. Escept hims legs. An' he walked along, an'

he walked along, an' he walked along, an' he met a tiger. An' e tiger eat 'em up. Evly bit of 'em. Escept hims feet. An' he walked along, an'

he walked along, an' he walked along, an' he met a horsh. An' e horsh ate 'em all up. Evly bit of 'em. An' nofing was left. Ony hims b.u.t.ton.

An' hims mover had no dear ittle boy left', so there."

The unique part of the stories Max told was, he invariably managed to leave the impression that the moral of the tale was the mother should not have refused her consent to his going down the dark forest all alone and that she was the sole sufferer.

Pauline opened and shut her cramped hand half a dozen times.

"Thank goodness they're done," she said. "Give me that piece of paper to wrap them in, m.u.f.fie, and you go and get some string, Lynn, while I write to him."

For the final destination of the tales had long since been settled.

So it happened that Hugh Kinross, coming home from the golf links at tea-time, was greeted by a bulky newspaper parcel on his desk, and the laconic note, "Please corect our mistakes and have them made into books like yours, only nicer covers. We like red except Lynn, and she likes green. And we like gold edges and plenty of pictures, and our names at the front in big letters."

CHAPTER XV

"OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES"

"That excuse about inspiration was all very well," said Dora, rubbing away hard at an obstinate spot on a pink silk blouse, "but I would give a good deal to know why he _really_ went off in such a violent hurry, Bee."