Part 8 (2/2)
Hung its hopes upon a nail Or laid them on the shelf; Then p.r.i.c.ked its conscience with its tail, And sat upon itself.
They looked also with considerable approval upon the drawings and descriptions of the Muddle Man whose manners towards the rest of the world were cool; because
He saw things with his naked eye, That's why his glance was chilly.
But the explanation of the disasters he caused everywhere by his disagreeable sharpness of speech and behaviour did _not_ amuse them.
They observed as usual that it was 'too impossible'; the drawings, moreover, did not quite convince:--
So cutting was his speaking tone Each phrase snipped off a b.u.t.ton, So sharp his words, they have been known To carve a leg of mutton; He shaved himself with sentences, And when he went to dances, He made--Oh shocking tendencies!- Deep holes with piercing glances.
But on the last page the Muddle Man behaved so badly, was so positively indecent in his conduct, that he was persuaded to disappear altogether; and his manner of extinguis.h.i.+ng himself in the ill.u.s.tration delighted the children far more than the verse whose fun again escaped them:--
They observed he was indecent, But he said it wasn't true, For _he_ p.r.o.nounced it 'in descent'-- Then disappeared from view!
Mother's alleged 'second sight' was also attributed to the fact that she 'looked twice before she leaped'--and the drawing of that leap never failed to produce high spirits. For her calm and steady way of walking--sailing--had earned her the name of the frigate--and this was also ill.u.s.trated, with various winds, all coloured, driving her along.
The time pa.s.sed happily; some one turned the lamp out, and Daddy, regardless of expense--he had been grumbling about it ten minutes before--heaped on the bricks of peat. Riquette, a bit of movable furniture without which the room seemed incomplete, deftly slipped in between the circle of legs and feet, and curled up upon Jinny's lap.
Her snoring, a wheezy noise that made Jimbo wonder 'why it didn't sc.r.a.pe her,' was as familiar as the ticking of the clock. Old Mere Riquette knew her rights. And she exacted them. Jinny's lap was one of these. She had a face like an old peasant woman, with a curious snub nose and irregular whiskers that betrayed recklessly the advance of age. Her snores and gentle purring filled the room now. A hush came over the whole party. At seven o'clock they must all troop over to the Pension des Glycines for supper, but there was still an hour left. And it was a magic hour. Sighs were audible here and there, as the exhausted children settled deeper into their chairs.
A change came over the atmosphere. Would nothing exciting ever happen?
'The stars are out,' said Jimbo in his soft, gentle little voice, turning his head towards the windows. The others looked too--all except Mother, whose att.i.tude suggested suspiciously that she slept, and Riquette, who most certainly did sleep. Above the rampart of the darkened Alps swung up the army of the stars. The brighter ones were reflected in the lake. The sky was crowded. Tiny, golden pathways slid down the purple walls of the night. 'Some one in heaven is letting down the star-ladders...' he whispered.
Jimbo's sentence had marked the change of key. Enchantment was abroad --the Sat.u.r.day evening spell was in the room.
And suddenly a new enormous thing stirred in their father's heart.
Whence it came, or why, he knew not. Like a fire it rose in him deep down, from very far away, delightful. Was it an inspiration coming, he wondered? And why did Jimbo use that phrase of beauty about star- ladders? How did it come into the mind of a little boy? The phrase opened a new channel in the very depths of him, thence climbing up and outwards, towards the brain.... And, with a thrill of curious high wonder, he let it come. It was large and very splendid. It came with a rush--as of numerous whispering voices that flocked about him, urging some exquisite, distant sweetness in him to unaccustomed delivery. A softness of ten thousand stars trooped down into his blood. Some constellation like the Pleiades had flung their fiery tackle across the dusk upon his mind. His thought turned golden....
CHAPTER VIII
We are the stars which sing.
We sing with our light.
We are the birds of fire.
We fly across the heaven.
Our light is a star.
We make a road for Spirits, A road for the Great Spirit.
Among us are three hunters Who chase a bear: There never was a time When they were not hunting; We look down on the mountains.
This is the Song of the Mountains.
_Red Indian_ (_Algonquin_) _Lyric_.
Translator, J. D. PRINCE.
'A star-story, please,' the boy repeated, cuddling up. They all drew, where possible, nearer. Their belief in their father's powers, rarely justified, was pathetic. Each time they felt sure he would make the adventures seem real, yet somehow he never quite did. They were aware that it was invention only. These things he told about he had not experienced himself. For they badly needed a leader, these children; and Daddy just missed filling the position. He was too 'clever,' his imagination neither wild nor silly enough, for children. And he felt it. He threw off rhymes and stories for them in a spirit of bravado rather--an expression of disappointment. Yet there was pa.s.sion in them too--concealed. The public missed the heart he showed them in his books in the same way.
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