The Tale of Lal Part 5

Christine, grasping a great yellow bunch of primroses in each hand, ceased picking flowers and watched the bright-eyed squirrels and rabbits gambolling everywhere around.

"Ridgie, have you noticed all the rabbits and squirrels are quite tame?"

"Of course they're tame," agreed the Lion, "n.o.body here to hurt them; why, they will come and eat out of your hand."

"Why is that?" asked Ridgwell.

"No guns or traps," chuckled the Lion. "Any animal respectably brought up is indignant at the very thought of a gun or a trap; consequently they keep themselves to themselves, and seldom go out into society."

Ridgwell's gaze roamed over the lovely spring landscape, and rested upon the ma.s.ses of flowers the other children were picking.

"Everything here is just as it ought to be, isn't it, Lal?"

"Every single thing," answered the Lion. "But it is going to change, you know, almost directly."

"Change?" echoed Ridgwell. "Why, Lal?"

The Pleasant-Faced Lion chuckled softly, and lifting his head, called out, "Summer."

Immediately the Lion said "Summer," everything around commenced to alter most strangely.

Banks of primroses became stretches of sparkling golden sands, and the great ma.s.ses of bluebells, after swaying once or twice, dissolved themselves into the misty rippling waves of a summer sea.

Christine and Ridgwell, looking hopelessly perplexed, found they were each in a tiny boat with a pearly sail, skimming over shallow blue waters that sparkled like sapphires.

The sky over their heads had changed to the burning blue of a summer day. The air was filled with the sweet salt spray of the sea, which descended in delicious showers upon all of them.

"Have all the children got boats?" demanded the Lion.

"All," shrilled the Dolphins. "Their boats can't upset, Lal, and the waters are transparent, and shallow enough for them to fish up coloured sh.e.l.ls, coral, and mother-of-pearl. There's a sunken treasure-ship half buried in the sands far upon the other side, Lal, if they sail for it."

"They'll all make for that safe enough," answered the Lion. "Push their boats off, Dolphins, and help them all to land upon the far sh.o.r.e."

The Dolphins, splashing the water into little white frothy waves, accompanied the little bobbing fleet of pearl-boats, and sang gaily as they swam alongside.

"Blue and gold on the summer sea, Each little mast with a sail of pearl, Each dipping boat holds a boy or girl, A most enchanting argosy.

A ship one's longed for most perhaps That cannot anyhow collapse.

We'll sail away to the golden strand, And maybe discover No Man's Land; Each one of us will get a peep Into the wonders of the deep, Dredging for sh.e.l.ls of brilliant hue, And discovering mermaids too.

Sing ho! for a galleon of Spanish gold, With jewels and ivory in the hold.

What treasure we'll find upon the main!

What triumph when we sail home again!

The wonder of every lad and la.s.s Will be the booty we ama.s.s."

After a short but entrancing voyage, and even whilst Ridgwell and Christine stood with the other children waist-deep in the great carven hold of the sunken Spanish galleon, shovelling out golden doubloons and precious jewels, the sound of Lal's voice came across the water to them.

"Autumn, ahoy!" shouted Lal.

"Isn't it bewildering, Chris?" lamented Ridgwell. "Only a second ago we were enthroned in a castle of golden coins and precious stones, and now, without any sort of warning whatever, we are standing upon the top of a waggon-load of newly-mown hay."

"Yes, Ridgie, and look at Lal across there, laughing about it like anything."

"He certainly does play tricks with us, Chris. See, he is sending all the children racing across to draw our hay-cart with those ropes of acorns and leaves they are holding. Hullo!" broke off Ridgwell, "somebody is throwing things at me, and if they continue doing it I shall jolly well start throwing back again."

Christine looked up from the stack of loose hay surrounding her in the cart upon which they stood.

"Why, it's apples," announced Christine.

"Where?" inquired her brother.

"Look, Ridgie, overhead, hundreds of them hanging from every tree. We can reach them quite easily."

There could be no doubt about the matter. Rosy apples ripened by the sun dangled in cl.u.s.ters overhead, and gently fell down at the very moment when any one felt disposed to eat them.

Within easy reach grew trailing brambles smothered with ripened patches of fragrant blackberries.

The Pleasant-Faced Lion lifted up his voice and inquired if the company present desired anything better, at the season they were now pa.s.sing through, than unlimited apples, blackberries, and hay.

"No," came a simultaneous chorus from all the children.

"Good," replied the Lion. "After you have all eaten as many apples and blackberries as you want, the battle of the new-mown hay will start. I shall be the umpire. If Ridgwell and Christine can throw enough hay from their big cart to bury all the children around them, they will have won. If the other children can throw up enough hay to completely smother the cart, Ridgwell and Christine will have lost. Now start,"

laughed the Lion.

"Look here, Chris, we must get to work, so here goes."

Whereupon Ridgwell seized a big armful of loose hay and awaited the attack.

"We have the advantage of height," observed Christine, as she hastily gathered as much hay as she could hold, "and you know, Ridgie, it is much easier for us to throw down than it is for them to throw up."

"How about numbers?" objected Ridgwell; "why, it's two against hundreds, Chris."

Then the battle commenced. That engagement was a memorable one amidst the scented hay. Not infrequently it happened that only a laughing eye, or the tip of a small nose was anywhere visible to show who might be the victor. n.o.body will ever be quite sure who won, and it is doubtful if the point was ever decided.

Ridgwell, feeling very smothered up, was remarking to Christine in m.u.f.fled tones that he thought they must have lost, when the voice of Lal announced "Winter."

"Don't you feel buried, Chris?"

"Yes," came the unexpected reply, "I am. I'm simply buried in furs and snow!"

"Furs and snow?" repeated Ridgwell incredulously. "What on earth do you mean, Chris? Oh, good gracious, Chris, I've got an extraordinary feeling I'm falling over a sort of precipice."

"So we are," rejoined Christine philosophically. "Don't you see, Ridgie, that Lal has changed everything again. We are on a toboggan sleigh, and just starting down no end of a steep hill."

Ridgwell rubbed the finely powdered snow out of his eyes.