The Tale of Lal Part 13

"Don't understand it, do you?" grinned the Lion.

"Not a bit," answered Ridgwell.

"I give it up, too," said Christine.

"Are you laughing at us, Lal?" inquired Ridgwell anxiously.

"Ah!" said the Lion, "I wonder; however, he who laughs last, laughs last; that saying is true without a doubt; and," he concluded with a chuckle, "I bet you both anything you like that I have the last laugh.

In fact, one day when you pa.s.s me you may hear me laugh, although I shall never speak to either of you again in public. And that reminds me of something I want to warn both of you about particularly. Never appear to notice me in public or speak to me whenever you chance to pa.s.s me in Trafalgar Square; you would only collect a crowd, make me very uncomfortable, and convey the unfortunate impression to everybody within earshot that you were mad. The same thing applies to Carry-on-Merry; he has a most provoking face, and the happy laugh always to be seen upon it might tempt you both to suppose that he was listening; now mind you never give way to the temptation of addressing either of us in public, and never refer to anything that has happened even in private, for you will only be misunderstood. Remember,"

concluded the Lion, "that the Great Order of Imagination is only given to a very few people; those who do not possess it do not understand it.

See, your own has faded already!"

Both the children clasped their hands simultaneously to their necks where the glittering order had hung and shone only a few minutes before.

Then they stared blankly at the place where it had been. Alas! the luminously lighted jewels of the order were no longer there.

"Oh, Lal," said Ridgwell, "shall we never have it again?"

"Only the memory of it," replied the Lion gently; "that never fades."

"Only the memory," echoed Ridgwell thoughtfully.

"n.o.body can ever take that away from you," said the Lion.

"Did any other little boy ever have the Great Order of Imagination, Lal?"

"Yes," said the Lion, "there was _one_ who had the highest and greatest order of all, the Pure Soul of Imagination itself." The Lion paused and seemed to be thinking.

"Where is he now?" whispered Ridgwell, for unconsciously he seemed to have lowered his voice.

The Lion lifted his great and n.o.ble head, and looked upwards towards the silver stars above them. The Lion shook his head doubtfully, and the children noticed that there was something very like a tear in his eyes.

"I don't know which particular star," said the Lion, "but somewhere there, I think; but then, you see, I'm only a Pagan."

The Lion stopped and purred; they were outside the familiar windows of their own home.

"Oh, Lal," whispered the children, "how shall we remember all we've seen to-night; how shall we be able to think about it and go through it all again, if the Order of Imagination has been taken away from us and if we are never to speak to you again, and only to see you once more?

Even then you cannot tell us _how_ we are going to see you."

The Lion smiled. "I can arrange that easily. Be of good heart, little Ridgwell and Christine. I know a writer--he comes and talks to me at night sometimes, though I never answer him--and I will suggest he writes it all down for you. I can ask him things without saying a word."

"Will you?" pleaded the children. "Oh, please ask him, Lal!"

"Yes," said the Lion, "I will; good-night."

CHAPTER IV

PREPARING FOR A VISITOR

Upon the third day after bidding good-bye to their strange friend, the children felt they had every reason to be excited as to what events the day would bring forth, to say nothing of endless speculations as to the manner in which their most uncommon visitor might choose to appear to them.

Consequently after Ridgwell had opened his birthday presents the first thing in the morning, he held a sort of council of war with Christine.

"You see, Chris, fortunately the house hasn't any underneath part,"

explained Ridgwell, "so that we can keep watch, both of us, all on one floor so to speak. You take guard of the French windows in the drawing-room where you can see the greater part of the garden, and I will watch the windows of the dining-room, where I can see the road both ways up to the house."

"Shan't we get tired of always looking at the same spot?" objected Christine.

"I have thought of a plan for that, Chris. When either of us want a change, just shout out, 'Sister Ann, sister Ann, do you see anybody coming?'"

"I see," nodded Christine, "everybody will only think we are playing a game."

"Then," pursued Ridgwell, full of inspiration, "if Lal isn't looming in sight anywhere, the other will shout out, 'Not a sail in the offing,'

then we change over rooms."

"Anyway Lal couldn't sail, could he?" queried Christine.

"You don't know how he might come," whispered Ridgwell. "He might even come in a motor car, and anyway it's only so that other people shan't understand."

"It seems to me," remarked Christine logically, "that people won't understand him anyway, and less when they see him than when they don't."

"It's an anxious time, isn't it, Chris?"

"Very," a.s.sented Christine, "and anyhow we shall have to drop Cookie a hint, because you see her window in the kitchen looks over a part of the garden that we can't see from the drawing-room."

"Of course," mused Ridgwell, "the weak spot about Cookie is that she gets shocks so quickly."

"She's sure to get one to-day," commenced Christine hopefully, "when Lal comes."

"Very well then, we'll give her a sort of hint," suggested Ridgwell.

Now Cookie, beloved of the children, to say nothing of the household generally, was a fat person, with very red cheeks, and very good-humoured rolling green eyes that somehow always looked as if they had been originally intended for gooseberries, which had boiled and bubbled during her many cooking operations and had never been permitted to simmer.

"What do you children want in the kitchen?" commenced Cookie. "Master Ridgie, you know quite well that your birthday cake ain't to be ready till tea-time."

"But, Cookie dear," commenced Ridgwell insinuatingly.

Cookie dear continued the mystic rights over which she presided as high priestess, her vermilion red hands and arms continued to splash about in a very big basin, where she contrived to throw up little waves of very white flour as if she were about to take a morning dip in it, yet hesitated before taking the plunge. These mysterious rites having been accomplished and the flour having as it were received a final blessing from Cookie's hands, Cookie commenced to beat up eggs.

"I know you've come wheedling for something," objected Cookie, "and you ain't going to 'ave it, Master Ridgie. Why, you've only just finished your breakfast."

"I don't want anything to eat," announced Ridgwell.

Cookie eyes boiled and rolled ominously, whilst a sort of faint concern appeared upon the surface of them. "If you can't eat, Master Ridgie, then you must be ill and want some medicine."