Chapter I: Part 1

NUMBER TWO JOY STREET

TO

THE AUTHORS AND ARTISTS

WHO, BY THEIR SKILLFUL FURNISHING
OF NUMBER ONE JOY STREET, HAVE
MADE POSSIBLE THE BUILDING OF

NUMBER TWO

THEY

We found them in the little wood,
We found them suddenly one day:
We heard a tiny laughing sound
Close, close beside us on the ground,
And it was THEY.

We stood and looked, we held our breath;
The little minutes seemed like hours.
They did not speak, they did not stir,
But strange their little faces were
Among strange flowers.

There came a wind, there came a cloud;
The ferns were like a tossing sea....
We searched and searched about the place,
But they were gone without a trace—
How could it be?
ROSE FYLEMAN.

_Number Two Joy Street_
_A Medley of Prose & Verse for Boys and Girls_

_By_

G. K. CHESTERTON
WALTER DE LA MARE
A. A. MILNE
HILAIRE BELLOC
HUGH WALPOLE
LAURENCE HOUSMAN
MADELEINE NIGHTINGALE
EDITH SITWELL
HUGH CHESTERMAN
MABEL MARLOWE
VALERY CARRICK
B. KATHLEEN PYKE
MARIAN ALLEN
THOMAS QUAYLE
BLANCHE WINDER
ROSE FYLEMAN

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
New York :: :: MCMXXIV

COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

PAGE THEY _By ROSE FYLEMAN_ vii _Picture by MARIAN ALLEN._ PRINCE RABBIT _By A. A. MILNE_ 1 _Pictures by HUGH CHESTERMAN._ AUTUMN WIND _By MARIAN ALLEN_ 18 _Picture by THE AUTHOR._ SINGING FEVER _By MABEL MARLOWE_ 19 _Pictures by HARRY ROUNTREE._ THE RAM AND THE LEOPARD _By VALERY CARRICK_ 30 _Pictures by THE AUTHOR._ THE DRAGON AT HIDE-AND-SEEK _By G. K. CHESTERTON_ 38 _Pictures by J. R. MONSELL._ THE CRINOLINE _By B. K. PYKE_ 51 _Pictures by ALEC BUCKELS._ RED PEPPER _By THOMAS QUAYLE_ 53 _Pictures by J. R. MONSELL._ MISHY THE SURF-BABY _By MABEL MARLOWE_ 60 _Pictures by KENNETH HARROW and HARRY ROUNTREE._ ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── THE PRINCESS OF KENSINGTON _By MADELEINE NIGHTINGALE_ 70 THOMAS THE RHYMER _Pictures by C. T. NIGHTINGALE._ 73 ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── THE PIRATE SHIP _By MARIAN ALLEN_ 75 _Picture by THE AUTHOR._ A STRANGER _By HUGH WALPOLE_ 76 _Pictures by ROY MELDRUM._ ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── PROUD SIR PIM _By HUGH CHESTERMAN_ 99 KNOWLEDGE _Pictures by THE AUTHOR._ 100 ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── MAGIC CASEMENTS _By MADELEINE NIGHTINGALE_ 102 _Pictures by C. T. NIGHTINGALE._ ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── SETTING THE THAMES ON FIRE _By HUGH CHESTERMAN_ 123 THE WANDERER _Pictures by THE AUTHOR._ 126 THE WRANGLERS 128 ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── MOTHER CHRISTMAS _By ROSE FYLEMAN_ 130 _Pictures by TINKER TAYLOR._ FUNNY LOO _By EDITH SITWELL_ 136 _Picture by K. M. GIBBS._ A THING TO BE EXPLAINED _By LAURENCE HOUSMAN_ 138 _Pictures by C. T. NIGHTINGALE._ LUCY _By WALTER DE LA MARE_ 165 _Pictures by HILDA T. MILLER._ ON WHINNEY MOOR _By BLANCHE WINDER_ 207 _Pictures by FREDERICK CARTER._ THE BLACKSMITH _By B. K. PYKE_ 211 _Pictures by ALEC BUCKELS._ SARAH BYNG _By HILAIRE BELLOC_ 213 _Pictures by GABRIEL PIPPET._

LIST OF COLOURED PLATES

THEY _By Marian Allen_ _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
AUTUMN WIND _By Marian Allen_ 18
THE DRAGON AT HIDE-AND-SEEK _By J. R. Monsell_ 38
MISHY _By Kenneth Harrow_ 60
THE PIRATE SHIP _By Marian Allen_ 74
PROUD SIR PIM _By Hugh Chesterman_ 97
A THING TO BE EXPLAINED _By C. T. Nightingale_ 136
LUCY _By Hilda T. Miller_ 163

_The pattern on the Cover and End-papers of this book is based on a
design from a picture by Orcagna (No. 569) in the National Gallery. It
is taken from a plate in “Fifteenth-Century Italian Ornament,” by
Sydney Vacher, and is reproduced by kind permission of Messrs. Bernard
Quaritch._

_The coloured wrapper is designed by Alec Buckels._

NUMBER TWO JOY STREET
❦

PRINCE RABBIT _By A. A. MILNE_

Once upon a time there was a King who had no children. Sometimes he would say to the Queen, “If only we had a son!” and the Queen would answer, “If only we had!” And then on another day he would say, “If only we had a daughter!” and the Queen would sigh and answer, “Yes, even if we had a daughter, that would be something.” But they had no children at all.

As the years went on, and there were still no children in the Royal Palace, the people began to ask each other who would be the next King to reign over them. And some said that perhaps it would be the Chancellor, which was a pity, as nobody liked him very much; and others said that there would be no King at all, but that everybody would be equal. Those who were lowest of all thought that this would be a satisfactory ending of the matter; but those who were higher up felt that, though in some respects it would be a good thing, yet in other respects it would be an ill-advised state of affairs; and they hoped, therefore, that a young Prince would be born in the Palace. But no Prince was born.

One day, when the Chancellor was in audience with the King, it seemed well to him to speak what was in the people’s minds.

“Your Majesty,” he said; and then stopped, wondering how best to put it.

“Well?” said the King.

“Have I your Majesty’s permission to speak my mind?”

“So far; yes,” said the King.

Encouraged by this, the Chancellor resolved to put the matter plainly.

“In the event of your Majesty’s death——” He coughed and began again. “If your Majesty ever _should_ die,” he said, “which in any case will not be for many years—if ever—as, I need hardly say, your Majesty’s loyal subjects earnestly hope—I mean they hope it will be never. But assuming for the moment—making the sad assumption——”

“You said you wanted to speak your mind,” interrupted the King. “Is this it?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Then I don’t think much of it.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

“What you are trying to say is, Who will be the next King?”

“Quite so, your Majesty.”

“Ah!” The King was silent for a little. Then he said, “I can tell you who won’t be.”

The Chancellor did not seek for information on this point, feeling that in the circumstances the answer was obvious.

“What do you suggest yourself?”

“That your Majesty choose a successor from among the young and the highly-born of the country, putting him to whatever test seems good to your Majesty.”

The King pulled at his beard and frowned.

“There must be not one test, but many tests. Let all, who will, offer themselves, provided only that they are under the age of twenty and are well-born. See to it.”

He waved his hand in dismissal, and with an accuracy established by long practice the Chancellor retired backwards out of the Palace.

On the following morning, therefore, it was announced that all those who were ambitious to be appointed the King’s successor, and who were of high birth and not yet come to the age of twenty, should present themselves a week later for the tests to which His Majesty desired to put them, the first of which was to be a running race. Whereat the people rejoiced, for they wished to be ruled by one to whom they could look up, and running was much esteemed in that country.

On the appointed day the excitement was great. All along the course, which was once round the castle, large crowds were massed, and at the finishing point the King and Queen themselves were seated in a specially erected pavilion. And to this pavilion the competitors were brought to be introduced to their Majesties. And there were nine young nobles, well-built, and handsome, and (it was thought) intelligent, who were competitors. And there was also one Rabbit.

The Chancellor had first noticed the Rabbit when he was lining up the competitors, pinning numbers on their backs so that the people should identify them, and giving them such instructions as seemed necessary to him. “Now, now, be off with you,” he had said. “Competitors only, this way.” And he had made a motion of impatient dismissal with his foot.

“I _am_ a competitor,” said the Rabbit. “And I don’t think it is usual,” he added with dignity, “for the starter to kick one of the competitors just at the beginning of an important foot-race. It looks like favouritism.”

“_You_ can’t be a competitor,” laughed all the young nobles.

“Why not? Read the rules.”

The Chancellor, feeling rather hot suddenly, read the rules. The Rabbit was certainly under twenty; he had a pedigree which showed that he was of the highest birth; and——

“And,” said the Rabbit, “I am ambitious to be appointed the King’s successor. Those were all the conditions. Now let’s get on with the race.”

But first came the introduction to the King. One by one the competitors came up ... and at the end——

“This,” said the Chancellor, as airily as he could, “is Rabbit.”

Rabbit bowed in the most graceful manner possible; first to the King and then to the Queen. But the King only stared at him. Then he turned to the Chancellor.

“Well?”

The Chancellor shrugged his shoulders.

“His entry does not appear to lack validity,” he said.

“He means, your Majesty, that it is all right,” explained Rabbit.

The King laughed suddenly. “Go on,” he said. “We can always have a race for a new Chancellor afterwards.”

So the race was started. And the young Lord Calomel was much cheered on coming in second; not only by their Majesties, but also by Rabbit, who had finished the course some time before, and was now lounging in the Royal Pavilion.

“A very good style, your Majesty,” said Rabbit, turning to the King. “Altogether he seems to be a most promising youth.”

“Most,” said the King grimly. “So much so that I do not propose to trouble the rest of the competitors. The next test shall take place between you and him.”

“Not racing again, please, your Majesty. That would hardly be fair to his lordship.”

“No, not racing; fighting.”

“Ah! What sort of fighting?”

“With swords,” said the King.

“I am a little rusty with swords, but I daresay in a day or two——”

“It will be now,” said the King.

“You mean, your Majesty, as soon as Lord Calomel has recovered his breath?”

The King answered nothing, but turned to his Chancellor.

“Tell the young Lord Calomel that in half an hour I desire him to fight with this Rabbit——”

“The young Lord Rabbit,” murmured the other competitor to the Chancellor.

“To fight with him for my kingdom.”

“_And_ borrow me a sword, will you?” said Rabbit. “Quite a small one. I don’t want to hurt him.”

So, half an hour later, on a level patch of grass in front of the pavilion, the fight began. It was a short, but exciting, struggle. Calomel, whirling his long sword in his strong right arm, dashed upon Rabbit, and Rabbit, carrying his short sword in his teeth, dodged between Calomel’s legs and brought him toppling. And when it was seen that the young Lord rose from the ground with a broken arm, and that with the utmost gallantry he had now taken his sword in his left hand, the people cheered. And Rabbit, dropping his sword for a moment, cheered too; and then he picked it up and got it entangled in his adversary’s legs again, so that again the young Lord Calomel crashed to the ground, this time with a sprained ankle. And there he lay.

Rabbit trotted into the Royal Pavilion, and dropped his sword in the Chancellor’s lap.

“Thank you so much,” he said. “Have I won?”

And the King frowned and pulled at his beard.

“There are other tests,” he muttered.

But what were they to be? It was plain that Lord Calomel was in no condition for another physical test. What, then, of an intellectual test?

“After all,” said the King to the Queen that night, “intelligence is a quality not without value to a ruler.”

“Is it?” asked the Queen doubtfully.

Calomel dashed upon Rabbit.
]

“I have found it so,” said the King, a little haughtily.

“Oh,” said the Queen.

“There is a riddle, of which my father was fond, the answer to which has never been revealed save to the Royal House. We might make this the final test between them.”

“What is the riddle?”

“I fancy it goes like this.” He thought for a moment, and then recited it, beating time with his hand.

“My _first_ I do for your delight,
Although ’tis neither black nor white.
My _second_ looks the other way,
Yet always goes to bed by day.
My _whole_ can fly, and climb a tree,
And sometimes swims upon the sea.”

“What is the answer?” asked the Queen.

“As far as I remember,” said His Majesty, “it is either _Dormouse_ or _Raspberry_.”

“‘Dormouse’ doesn’t make sense,” objected the Queen.

“Neither does ‘raspberry,’” pointed out the King.

“Then how can they guess it?”

“They can’t. But my idea is that young Calomel should be secretly told beforehand what the answer is, so that he may win the competition.”

“Is that fair?” asked the Queen doubtfully.

“Yes,” said the King. “Certainly. Or I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

So it was duly announced by the Chancellor that the final test between the young Lord Calomel and Rabbit would be the solving of an ancient riddle-me-ree, which in the past had baffled all save those of Royal blood. Copies of the riddle had been sent to the competitors, and in a week from that day they would be called upon to give their answers before their Majesties and the full Court. And with Lord Calomel’s copy went a message, which said this:

“_From a Friend._ The answer is _Dormouse_. BURN THIS.”

The day came round; and Calomel and Rabbit were brought before their Majesties; and they bowed to their Majesties, and were ordered to be seated, for Calomel’s ankle was still painful to him. And when the Chancellor had called for silence, the King addressed those present, explaining the conditions of the test to them.

“And the answer to the riddle,” he said, “is in this sealed paper, which I now hand to my Chancellor, in order that he shall open it, as soon as the competitors have told us what they know of the matter.”

The people, being uncertain what else to do, cheered slightly.

“I will ask Lord Calomel first,” His Majesty went on. He looked at his lordship, and his lordship nodded slightly. And Rabbit, noticing that nod, smiled suddenly to himself.

“Lord Calomel,” said the King, “what do you consider to be the best answer to this riddle-me-ree?”

The young Lord Calomel tried to look very wise, and he said:

“There are many possible answers to this riddle-me-ree, but the best answer seems to me to be _Dormouse_.”

“Let someone take a note of that answer,” said the King; whereupon the Chief Secretary wrote down: “LORD CALOMEL—_Dormouse_.”

“Now,” said the King to Rabbit, “what suggestion have you to make in this matter?”

Rabbit, who had spent an anxious week inventing answers each more impossible than the last, looked down modestly.

“Well?” said the King.

“Your Majesty,” said Rabbit with some apparent hesitation, “I have a great respect for the intelligence of the young Lord Calomel, but I think that in this matter he is mistaken. The answer is not, as he suggests, _wood-louse_, but _dormouse_.”

“I _said_ ‘dormouse,’” cried Calomel indignantly.

“I thought you said ‘wood-louse,’” said Rabbit in surprise.

“He certainly said ‘dormouse,’” said the King coldly.

“‘Wood-louse,’ I _think_,” said Rabbit.

“Lord Calomel—‘_Dormouse_,’” read out the Chief Secretary.

“There you are,” said Calomel. “I did say ‘dormouse.’”

“My apologies,” said Rabbit, with a bow. “Then we are both right, for _dormouse_ it certainly is.”

The Chancellor broke open the sealed paper, and to the amazement of nearly all present read out “Dormouse.”

“Apparently, your Majesty,” he said in some surprise, “they are both equally correct.”

The King scowled. In some way, which he didn’t quite understand, he had been tricked.

“May I suggest, your Majesty,” the Chancellor went on, “that they be asked now some question of a different order, such as can be answered, after not more than a few minutes’ thought, here in your Majesty’s presence. Some problem in the higher mathematics, for instance, such as might be profitable for a future King to know.”

“What question?” asked His Majesty, a little nervously.

“Well, as an example—what is seven times six?” And, behind his hand, he whispered to the King, “Forty-two.”

Not a muscle of the King’s face moved, but he looked thoughtfully at the Lord Calomel. Supposing his lordship did not know!

“Well?” he said reluctantly. “What is the answer?”

The young Lord Calomel thought for some time, and then said, “Fifty-four.”

“And you?” said the King to Rabbit.

Rabbit wondered what to say. As long as he gave the same answers as Calomel, he could not lose in the encounter, yet in this case “Forty-two” was the right answer. But the King, who could do no wrong, even in arithmetic might decide, for the purposes of the competition, that “fifty-four” was an answer more becoming to the future ruler of the country. Was it, then, safe to say “Forty-two”?

“Your Majesty,” he said, “there are several possible answers to this extraordinarily novel conundrum. At first sight the obvious solution would appear to be ‘forty-two.’ The objection to this solution is that it lacks originality. I have long felt that a progressive country such as ours might well strike out a new line in the matter. Let us agree that in future seven sixes are fifty-four. In that case the answer, as Lord Calomel has pointed out, _is_ ‘fifty-four.’ But if your Majesty would prefer to cling to the old style of counting, then your Majesty and your Majesty’s Chancellor would make the answer ‘forty-two.’”

After saying which, Rabbit bowed gracefully, both to their Majesties and to his opponent, and sat down again.

The King scratched his head in a puzzled sort of way.

“The correct answer,” he said, “is, or will be in the future, ‘fifty-four.’”

“Make a note of that,” whispered the Chancellor to the Chief Secretary.

“Lord Calomel guessed this at his first attempt; Rabbit at his second attempt. I therefore declare Lord Calomel the winner.”

“Shame!” said Rabbit.

“Who said that?” cried the King furiously.

Rabbit looked over his shoulder, with the object of identifying the culprit, but was apparently unsuccessful.

“However,” went on the King, “in order that there should be no doubt in the minds of my people as to the absolute fairness with which this competition is being conducted, there will be one further test. It happens that a King is often called upon to make speeches and exhortations to his people, and for this purpose the ability to stand evenly upon two legs for a considerable length of time is of much value to him. The next test, therefore, will be——”

But at this point Lord Calomel cleared his throat so loudly that the King had to stop and listen to him.

“Quite so,” said the King. “The next test, therefore, will be held in a month’s time, when his lordship’s ankle is healed, and it will be a test to see who can balance himself longest upon two legs only.”

Rabbit lolloped back to his home in the wood, pondering deeply.

Now there was an enchanter who lived in the wood, a man of many magical gifts. He could (it was averred by the countryside) extract coloured ribbons from his mouth, cook plum-puddings in a hat, and produce as many as ten silk handkerchiefs, knotted together, from a twist of paper. And that night, after a simple dinner of salad, Rabbit called upon him.

“Can you,” he said, “turn a rabbit into a man?”

The enchanter considered this carefully.

“I can,” he said at last, “turn a plum-pudding into a rabbit.”

“That,” said Rabbit, “to be quite frank, would not be a helpful operation.”

“I can turn almost anything into a rabbit,” said the enchanter with growing enthusiasm. “In fact, I like doing it.”

Then Rabbit had an idea.

“Can you turn a man into a rabbit?”

“I did once. At least I turned a baby into a baby rabbit.”

“When was that?”

“Eighteen years ago. At the court of King Nicodemus. I was giving an exhibition of my powers to him and his good Queen. I asked one of the company to lend me a baby, never thinking for a moment that——The young Prince was handed up. I put a red silk handkerchief over him, and waved my hands. Then I took the handkerchief away.... The Queen was very much distressed. I tried everything I could, but it was useless. The King was most generous about it. He said that I could keep the rabbit. I carried it about with me for some weeks, but one day it escaped. Dear, dear!” He wiped his eyes gently with a red silk handkerchief.

“Most interesting,” said Rabbit. “Well, this is what I want you to do.” And they discussed the matter from the beginning.

A month later the great Standing Competition was to take place. When all was ready, the King rose to make his opening remarks.

“We are now,” he began, “to make one of the most interesting tests between our two candidates for the throne. At the word ‘Go!’ they will——” And then he stopped suddenly. “Why, what’s this?” he said, putting on his spectacles. “Where is the young Lord Calomel? And what is that second rabbit doing? There was no need to bring your brother,” he added severely to Rabbit.

“I am Lord Calomel,” said the second rabbit meekly.

“Oh!” said the King.

“Go!” said the Chancellor, who was a little deaf.

Rabbit, who had been practising for a month, jumped on his back paws and remained there. Lord Calomel, who had no practice at all, remained on all fours. In the crowd at the back the enchanter chuckled to himself.

“How long do I stay like this?” asked Rabbit.

“This is all very awkward and distressing,” said the King.

“May I get down?” said Rabbit.

“There is no doubt that the Rabbit has won,” said the Chancellor.

“Which rabbit?” cried the King crossly. “They’re both rabbits.”

“The one with the white spots behind the ears,” said Rabbit helpfully. “May I get down?”

There was a sudden cry from the back of the hall.

“Your Majesty?”

“Well, well, what is it?”

The enchanter pushed his way forward.

“May I look, your Majesty?” he said in a trembling voice. “White spots behind the ears? Dear, dear! Allow me!” He seized Rabbit’s ears, and bent them this way and that.

“Ow!” said Rabbit.

“It is! Your Majesty, it is!”

“Is what?”

“The son of the late King Nicodemus, whose country is now joined to your own. Prince Silvio.”

“Quite so,” said Rabbit airily, hiding his surprise. “Didn’t any of you recognize me?”

“Nicodemus only had one son,” said the Chancellor, “and he died as a baby.”

“Not died,” said the enchanter, and forthwith explained the whole sad story.

“I see,” said the King, when the story was ended. “But of course that is neither here nor there. A competition like this must be conducted with absolute impartiality.” He turned to the Chancellor. “Which of them won that last test?”

“Prince Silvio,” said the Chancellor.

“Then, my dear Prince Silvio——”

“One moment,” interrupted the enchanter excitedly. “I’ve just thought of the words. I _knew_ there were some words you had to say.”

He threw his red silk handkerchief over Rabbit, and cried “Hey presto!”

And the handkerchief rose and rose and rose....

And there was Prince Silvio!

You can imagine how loudly the people cheered. But the King appeared not to notice that anything surprising had happened.

“Then, my dear Prince Silvio,” he went on, “as the winner of this most interesting series of contests, you are appointed successor to our throne.”

“Your Majesty,” said Silvio, “this is too much.” And he turned to the enchanter and said, “May I borrow your handkerchief for a moment? My emotion has overcome me.”

So on the following day, Prince Rabbit was duly proclaimed heir to the throne before all the people. But not until the ceremony was over did he return the enchanter’s red handkerchief.

“And now,” he said to the enchanter, “you may restore Lord Calomel to his proper shape.”

And the enchanter placed his handkerchief on Lord Calomel’s head, and said “Hey presto!” and Lord Calomel stretched himself and said “Thanks very much.” But he said it rather coldly, as if he were not really very grateful.

So they all lived happily for a long time. And Prince Rabbit married the most beautiful Princess of those parts; and when a son was born to them there was much feasting and jollification. And the King gave a great party, whereat minstrels, tumblers, jugglers and suchlike were present in large quantities to give pleasure to the company. But in spite of a suggestion made by the Princess, the enchanter was not present.

“But I hear he is so clever,” said the Princess to her husband.

“He has many amusing inventions,” replied the Prince, “but some of them are not in the best of taste.”

“Very well, dear,” said the Princess.

AUTUMN WIND _By MARIAN ALLEN_

The Autumn Wind I hear it say,
“Over the hills and far away—
The folded hills that are hedged and green
Where warm little villages huddle between—
Where peeps the spire of a half-hid town—
Over the hills that are furrowed and brown
To the distant hills that are blue and thin
Where the land must end and the sea begin—
Light as a leaf from the wind-blown tree—
Over the hills to the dancing sea—
Chasing your shadow across the sun—
Up little Playfellow! Up and run!”

SINGING FEVER _By MABEL MARLOWE_

One midsummer eve, Gollop the gnome went into his little house, shut the door, and began to sing. He began to sing softly at first, as if he had a baby in a cradle; but after a while his song grew louder, and louder, and louder still.

“Stop that noise, Gollop,” shouted the other gnomes, standing outside in the lane.

“I can’t!” answered Gollop, and he went on singing more lustily than ever. (The worst of it was, his voice was cracked.)

Then the other gnomes began to frown and to grumble and to stop their ears. They banged on Gollop’s door, and shouted out, “Stop that noise, Gollop!”

“I’ve tried, but I can’t,” replied Gollop, and he drew a long breath and began on his eighteenth song. Oh, such a noise he made! Then all the lady gnomes went into their houses and shut the doors and went to bed and refused to get up.

But Gollop went on singing. All through the night he sang, and every moment the sound of it grew louder. When morning came all the other gnomes had headache. All of them had ear-ache, and all of them were as vexed as they could be. They went to milk the cows, but the cows would give no milk. They went to collect the eggs, but the hens had laid none.

Then the gnomes grew most annoyed with Gollop. They banged on his door with their fists and they said, “Oh, Gollop, for goodness’ sake stop that noise. The cows have gone dry and the hens have laid no eggs, and our wives have gone under the bedclothes and refused to get up. And all through you. Stop that noise at once!”

But Gollop answered, “Oh, friends, I am very sorry, but I simply can’t stop singing. I have got singing fever.”

Then all the gnomes looked very startled and very worried in their minds, and one of them said, “Oh, Gollop, if you really have got singing fever I suppose you must sing. But you need not do it here, right in the middle of the village. Get up. Put on your hat and go right away. Go miles away, where we cannot hear you.”

“It might be catching!” said the other gnomes, looking fearfully at one another.

Gollop the gnome opened his door and strode out, singing all the time. Up the village street he went, and across the open moor, and away through the woodlands—and away—and away. The sound of his singing grew softer and softer, and at last faded altogether.

Then the wives got up, and the cows began to moo. The hens each laid an egg, and all the village was at peace.

Gollop the gnome went singing on his way, and by evening he was twenty miles away from home, right on the top of a pine-covered hill. A little man lived here, in a house made of pine-trees, and when he heard Gollop coming he called out, “Stop that noise!”

“I can’t!” said Gollop.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got singing fever.”

“Dear me, that is very serious,” said the little man. “Have you tried a cure?”

“Stop that noise,
Gollop!”
]

“I didn’t know there was a cure,” said Gollop (singing all the time).

“Oh yes, there is a cure. You simply have to do some fiddling. Then all the fever goes out of your voice into the fiddle.”

“I haven’t got a fiddle,” said Gollop.

“Never mind. I will lend you mine. But be sure you don’t lose it,” said the little man, and he went into his house and fetched a little fiddle and a little bow.

“There! That will cure your singing fever,” he said.

Gollop put out his hand and took the fiddle, and immediately he touched it his singing stopped.

“Keep it for three days,” said the little man, “and be sure you don’t lose it.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Gollop, and he kissed the little man on both cheeks. Then he turned and ran down the hill. Very quickly he hurried through the woodland and back across the moor, and he ran into the village just as the gnomes were saying “Good-night.”

“Hallo, Gollop! Are you cured?” they said. And when he told them that he was cured they all shook hands with him, and patted him on the back and called him “mate.”

But no sooner had Gollop gone into his house and closed the door than a weird noise was heard—a thin, screamy kind of noise, with a grunt here and there, and then a screech, and then a long, long wail.

“Stop treading on the dog, Gollop!” shouted the gnomes.

“I’m not treading on the dog,” replied Gollop.

“Stop teasing the cat!”

“I’m not teasing the cat.”

“Well, whatever you are doing, stop it! Stop it at once!”

“I can’t!” cried poor Gollop. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I do believe I’ve got fiddle fever!”

Then all the other gnomes grew most annoyed with poor Gollop, They banged on his door with their fists, and they said:

“Oh, Gollop, stop that noise at once! It is worse than singing fever. It is making all the pigs lie on their backs with their feet in the air. Open this door at once!”

So Gollop opened the door. Then one gnome said, “If he has no fiddle he can’t have fiddle fever. Take his fiddle away!” So they took his fiddle away from him. One gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. That gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. And the fiddle was passed on and on and on, all the way round the world.

“There! That’s soon settled! That has cured you of fiddle fever,” said the gnomes, feeling very satisfied with themselves.

“Yes,” replied Gollop sadly. “Yes, that is true, BUT—but—I do believe the singing fever is coming back again.”

Then he began to sing once more, and the noise of it was like the shaking of pebbles in a can.

“Quick! Give him back his fiddle,” cried the gnomes. But the fiddle was gone.

And Gollop went on singing.

Then all the gnomes began to get into a state, and they said, “Oh, Gollop, if you’ve got singing fever we suppose you must sing. But please don’t do it here. Our wives will go under the bedclothes and refuse to get up. The cows will go dry, and the hens will not lay, and all the pigs will lie on their backs with their feet up in the air. So please go away. Go miles away, where we cannot hear you.”

So Gollop the gnome came out, singing all the time. Along the village street he went, all in the glistening starlight. He crossed the open moor, and went through the shadowy woodlands, away and away. The sound of his singing grew softer and softer, and at last faded altogether.

Through the dark night Gollop travelled, singing all the way, and at dawn he came to the hill where the pines grew.

The little old man was just getting up. He put his head out of the window and shouted, “Stop that noise!”

“I can’t! I’ve got singing fever!” said Gollop.

“What? Again? I thought I cured you! What have you done with my fiddle?”

“It has gone round the world!”

“How very tiresome!” said the little old man. “It might be weeks before it gets back to me again. As for you, I will lend you my flute. I can’t let you go about the world making that noise. I will lend you my flute, but be sure you don’t lose it.”

“Will it cure my singing fever?” asked Gollop the gnome.

“Yes, to be sure! But be sure you don’t lose it.” Then the little old man drew in his head from the window, and in a few moments he came out at the door, bringing a tortoise-shell flute, with silver stops to it. Gollop put out his hand and took the flute, and immediately he touched it his singing stopped.

Then Gollop turned and ran down the hill. Quickly he sped through the woodlands and across the moor, and ran into the village just as the gnomes were going off to work.

“Hallo, Gollop! Are you cured?” they said. And when he said “Yes” they all shook hands with him once more, and patted him on the back and called him “pal.”

But no sooner had Gollop got into his house and closed the door, than an eerie, wailing sound was heard. Then there came a sound like a choke, and then a long, long squeal.

“Stop hurting the pig, Gollop!” cried the gnomes.

“I’m not touching the pig.”

“Stop teasing the parrot!”

“I’m not touching the parrot.”

“Well, whatever you are doing, stop it at once!”

“I can’t!” cried poor Gollop. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I do believe I’ve got flute fever!”

Then all the gnomes grew most dreadfully annoyed with Gollop. They knocked on his door with their sticks, and they said:

Gollop turned and ran down the hill.
]

“Oh, Gollop, stop that noise at once! It is worse than singing fever. It is worse than fiddle fever. It is making the goat stand on his hind legs like a circus pony. Open this door at once!”

So Gollop opened the door. Then one gnome said, “If he has no flute he cannot have flute fever. Take his flute away.” So they took his flute away from him. One gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. That gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. And the flute was passed on and on and on, all the way round the world.

“There! That’s settled! That has soon cured you of flute fever,” said the gnomes, feeling very proud and satisfied with themselves.

“Yes,” replied Gollop sadly. “Yes, dear friends, that is true. But—but—I’m afraid the singing fever is coming back again.”

Then he began to sing.

“Give him back his flute,” cried the gnomes, tearing at their hair. But the flute was gone.

Then the gnomes began to get into a fluster, and they said, “Oh, Gollop, if you really have got singing fever we suppose you must sing. But pray don’t do it here. Our wives will go to bed, and the hens will refuse to lay, and all the cows in the meadows will go dry. So please go away. Go a long way away. Go miles away, where we can’t hear you.”

“It’s all very fine! I’m getting tired,” said Gollop. But he went away all the same, singing as he went. The sun was shining as he passed through the village. Cocks were crowing in the farmyards and larks were singing in the sky. On through the awakening woodland Gollop travelled, and at last he reached the little house on the hill-top once more.

The little old man was sitting on a gate, swinging idly to and fro.

“Stop that noise!” he cried.

“I can’t! I’ve got singing fever!” replied Gollop.

“What? Again? I thought I cured you! What have you done with my flute?”

“It has gone round the world.”

“How very tiresome! It might be weeks before it gets back to me again. As for you, I will lend you my musical box. I can’t let you go about the world making that terrible noise. I will lend you my musical box. But be sure you don’t lose it.”

Then the little old man felt in his coat pocket, and took out a small, round musical box, with a picture on the top of it and a handle in the middle.

“Take it, and be sure you don’t lose it,” he said. So Gollop took the musical box into his hand, and immediately he touched it the singing stopped.

“Oh, thank you,” said Gollop, and he turned and ran down the hill. All through the sunny afternoon he trudged homewards, and he reached the village just as the gnomes were coming back from work.

“Hallo, Gollop! Are you cured?” they said, and when he answered “Yes” they patted him on the back and shook hands with him and called him “chum.”

But no sooner had Gollop got into his house and closed the door, than a faint, tinkly, fairy-like sound came floating through the window. It was like silver bells shaking in the wind. It was like the laughter of fairies. It was sweeter than choir boys singing in the little gnome choir.

“Have you got a fairy in there?” asked the gnomes.

“No, dear friends. But I’m afraid I’ve got musical-box fever!” said Gollop.

Then the gnomes looked at one another with big, slow smiles, and delightful twinklings of merry eyes.

“If you’ve got musical-box fever,” they said, “we all think you had better keep it.”

And he did.

THE RAM AND THE LEOPARD _By VALERY CARRICK_

AN AFRICAN TALE

Once upon a time a ram thought he would build himself a house in the forest. So he went into the forest and made a clearing.

“That’s done now,” he said; “to-morrow I’ll have a rest, and after that I’ll start building my house.”

Then he went back to his home.

But at the same time a leopard thought he would build himself a house in the forest. So he went there and began to look for a likely place, when suddenly he saw that a clearing had already been made, as though on purpose for a house to be built there.

“That’s splendid!” he thought. “I’ll begin to build my house here!”

And he started dragging sticks and stakes and logs along; he worked all day, and got very tired, and then he said:

“Well, the beginning is always the hardest part! To-morrow I’ll rest, and then start work again!”

The next day the ram came along, and saw all the sticks and stakes and logs gathered there: all he had to do was to put them together! And he was very much surprised, and he thought:

“This must be the fairies helping me!”

And then he began putting the walls up. And he got half way, and then felt very tired, so he went away to rest.

The next day the leopard came along again, and saw that the walls had been half built, and he thought:

“There, isn’t that splendid! I had a rest yesterday, and the fairies meantime helped me!”

And he started to work and finished building the walls, and got very tired, and thought:

“That’s all right! All to-morrow I’ll rest, and then I’ll finish it off!”

The next day the ram came along, and saw that it was all done but for the roof. And he set to work and put the roof on. Then he thought:

“Well, to-morrow I’ll just have a good rest, and then I can start moving in!”

The next day the leopard came along again, and when he saw what had happened he thought:

“There now, would you believe it, the work’s finished! The roof is on! To-morrow I’ll move in!”

The next day the ram started moving into his new house, and the leopard also started moving into HIS new house, and they both came along and met, and the ram said:

“This house is for ME to live in! I built it, and the fairies helped me!”

But the leopard said:

“No! This house is for ME to live in! It was I who built it, and it was ME whom the fairies helped!”

And they argued about it for a long time, and couldn’t settle who was to live in the house, or whom the fairies had helped. And in the end they went for judgment to the lion, and said to him:

“Please will YOU decide the question: Who built the house, whom did the fairies help, and who is to live in it?”

And the lion replied:

“Both of you built the house, and the fairies helped you both, and so both of you go and live in it, and don’t quarrel!”

So both the leopard and the ram started living in the house, and they got on all right and didn’t quarrel. The leopard would go off hunting, bring back his prey, and eat it. And the ram just kept on walking about round the house, nibbling the grass and getting quite satisfied with that. And the leopard began to wonder how it was: the ram had no sharp teeth, had no claws, and besides that he was lazy, so how did he manage to get plenty to eat and keep fat? How did HE catch his prey? So he asked him one day, and said:

“How do YOU catch your prey, Mr. Ram?”

And the ram answered:

“How do I catch my prey? First of all you show me how YOU catch your prey!”

Then the leopard put a log of wood on the ground, and began to approach it as if he were hunting: first he’d come up from one side, crouch down on the earth and creep along; then he’d come up from the other side, crouch down on the earth and creep along. Then all at once he’d spring right on to the log and start gnawing it with his teeth, hitting it with his paws, and tearing it with his claws. And the ram watched him, and then said:

“Well, now I’ll show you how I catch my prey.”

And he went and stood in front of the log, and then began to back. And he backed and backed, till all at once he ran forward at the log and butted it hard with his horns, and the log simply went spinning away like a top. So the leopard saw that the ram was very strong, and he thought to himself:

“The ram’s a dangerous beast! I must be on the look-out, or he’ll do for me. But there’s one good thing: I know he’s got to go back before he comes forward!”

And after that they went on living happily, the leopard going off hunting and bringing back his prey, and the ram walking round the house and nibbling the grass. But the leopard kept a sharp look-out and watched to see if the ram hadn’t started backing.

Then came the rains, and the earth got wet and slippery. And one day the leopard and the ram were standing together when suddenly the ram slipped, and he slipped so much that he went quite a long way back. And when the leopard saw this he got a terrible fright, and thought:

“Oh dear, oh dear! My end has come!”

And with that he dashed off into the forest. And ever since then the ram has been sole master of the house.

THE DRAGON AT HIDE-AND-SEEK _By G. K. CHESTERTON_

Once upon a time there was a knight who was an outlaw, that is a man hiding from the king and everybody else; and one who lived so wild and lawless a life, in being hunted from one hiding-place to another, that he had great difficulty in going to church every Sunday. Although his ordinary way of life was full of fighting, and burning, and breaking down doors, and therefore looked a little careless, he had been very carefully brought up, and it was obviously a very serious thing that he should be late for church. But he was so clever and daring in his way of getting from one place to another without being caught, that he generally managed it somehow. And it was often a considerable disturbance to the congregation when he came with a great crash flying in through the big stained-glass window and smashing it to atoms, having been patiently hanging on a gargoyle outside for half an hour; or, when he dropped suddenly out of the belfry, where he had been hiding in one of the big bells, and alighted almost on the heads of the worshippers. Nor were they better pleased when he preferred to dig a hole in the churchyard and crawl under the church-wall, coming up suddenly under a lifted paving-stone in the middle of the nave or the chancel. They were too well-behaved, of course, to notice the incident during the service; and the more just among them admitted that even outlaws must get to church somehow; but it caused a certain amount of talk in the town, and the history of the knight and his wonderful way of hiding everywhere and anywhere was by this time familiar to the whole countryside. At last this knight, who was called Sir Laverok, began to feel so sure of his power of escaping and hiding, whenever he wanted to, that he would come into the market-place in the most impudent manner when any great business was being transacted, such as the elections of the guilds, or even to the coronation of the king, to whom he addressed some well-chosen words of advice about his public duties, in a loud voice from the chimney-pot of an adjoining house. Often when the king and his lords were out hunting, or even when they were in camp during a great war, they would look up and see Sir Laverok perched like a bird on a tree above their heads, and ever ready with friendly counsels and almost fatherly good wishes. But though they pursued him with emotions of uninterrupted rage, lasting over several months, they were never able to discover what were the holes and corners in which he hid himself. They were forced to admit that his talent for disappearing into undiscovered places was of the highest order, and that in a children’s game of Hide-and-Seek he would have covered himself with everlasting glory; but they all felt that a fugitive from justice should be strictly forbidden to cultivate genius of this kind.

Now it was just about this time that there fell upon the whole of that country an enormous calamity far worse than any war or pestilence. It was of a kind which we have very few chances of experiencing nowadays; though in the other matter of wars and diseases our opportunities are still wide and varied. There had appeared in the wilderness, to the north of that country, a monster of huge size and horrible habits and disposition; a monster who might have been called for the sake of simplicity, a dragon, only he had feet like an elephant, but a hundred times bigger, with which he used to stamp and crush everything to a flat and fine paste before he licked it up with a tongue as long and large as the Great Sea Serpent; and his great jaws opened wide like a whale’s, only that they could have swallowed a shoal of whales as if they were whitebait. No weapons or missiles seemed to be of any avail against him; for his skin was plated with iron of incredible thickness. Indeed, some declared that he was entirely composed of iron, and that he had been made out of that material by a magician who lived beyond the wilderness, where such crafts and spells were more seriously studied. Indeed, it was hinted by some that the land of the magicians was in every way in advance of their own, and well worthy of emulation; and that if anyone objected that this marvellous machinery had no apparent effect except in killing people and destroying beautiful things, he should be rebuked as one lacking in enterprise and a larger outlook upon the future. But those who said this, commonly said it before they had actually met the new animal; and it was noticed that after meeting him they seldom uttered these thoughts, or, indeed, any other.

The monster may have been made of iron, and his nerves and muscles may have been, as some said, made like an arrangement of wheels and wires, but he was most unmistakably alive; and proved it by having a hearty appetite and an evident enjoyment of life. He trampled and devoured first, all the fortifications of the frontier, and then the castles and the larger towns of the interior; and by the time that he was marching towards the capital, the king and his courtiers were all climbing to the tops of towers, and everybody else to the tops of trees. These precautions proved inadequate in practical experience; in very practical experience. So long as the monster could be seen twenty miles away like a marching mountain, already fantastic in outline, but still blue or purple with distance, and there was no other sign of him except a slight shaking of the houses as in a mild earthquake, these conjectures and expedients could be debated copiously, if not always calmly. But when the creature came near enough for his habits to be closely studied, it was clear that he could tread down trees like grass, and flatten out castles like houses of cards. It became more and more the fashion to seek out less showy and more secluded country resorts; the whole population, led by magistrates, merchants, and all its natural leaders, fleeing with startling rapidity to the mountains and concealing themselves in holes and caverns, which they blocked behind them with big rocks. Even this was not very successful; the monster proceeded to scale the mountains with the gaiety of a goat, to kick the rocky barricades to pieces, letting in daylight on the cowering company within; and many of them were able to recognise the familiar shape of the long and curling tongue of the intelligent creature, exploring their retreat and coiling and twisting and darting about in a very playful and sportive manner. Those who had not found any hole to crawl into, and who were clinging in crowds to the crags higher up the hill, were at this moment, however, surprised with a sight that almost took their thoughts for an instant off the universal peril. On the highest crag of all, above their heads, had appeared suddenly the figure of Sir Laverok with his old spear in his hand, with his sword girt around his ragged armour, and the wind waving about his wild hair that was the colour of flame. In all that huddling crowd it was only the man in hiding who stood out conspicuous; and only the man fleeing from justice who did not flee.

“I am not afraid,” he said in answer to their wild cries. “You know I have a trick of finding my way to places of safety. And as it happens, I know a castle to which I shall retreat, and to which the dragon can never come.”

“But my good Sir,” said the Chancellor, pausing in the act of trying to creep into a rabbit-burrow, “the dragon can grind castles to powder with his heel. I regret to say that he showed not the least embarrassment even in approaching the Law Courts.”

“I know of a castle which he cannot reach,” said Sir Laverok.

“The offensive animal,” said the Lord Chamberlain, poking his head for a moment out of a hole in the ground, “actually entered the king’s private chamber without knocking.”

“I know of a private chamber that he cannot enter,” replied the outlaw knight.

“It is very doubtful,” came the muffled voice of the Lord High Admiral from somewhere underground, “whether we shall even be safe in any of the caverns.”

“I know a cavern where I shall be safe,” said Sir Laverok.