The Tale of Lal Part 7

Christine was the first to speak, and it was with a cry of great delight she turned to Ridgwell--

"Oh, Ridgie, you are lovely," said Christine.

"Course he is," said the Lion.

"I don't know about that," said Ridgwell hesitatingly. "I think you have made a mistake in the excitement."

"I've not," insisted Christine; "why, you look like a beautiful little Prince."

Here Ridgwell, who, overcome with modesty at these tributes, had been examining his jewelled shoe-buckles with downcast eyes, looked up at his sister.

"Well, how about you?" exclaimed Ridgwell. "Why, you look like a lovely fairy queen----"

"Course she does," said the Lion.

"Don't be silly, Ridgie," said Christine, severely.

"I'm not," a.s.serted Ridgwell. "I've never seen you look like that.

Perhaps," added Ridgwell, "these glittering orders we wear round our necks have something to do with it."

"You're right," said the Lion, "the priceless Order of Great Imagination enables you to see everything that is beautiful as it really is, and, of course, everything here is beautiful, so," added the Lion logically, "why should you both be different from anything else?"

The Lion beckoned to one of the Dolphins.

"Here," said the Lion, as the Dolphin approached them, "hold up your burnished golden tray and let the boy see himself."

The Dolphin held up the polished tray and Ridgwell looked into it wonderingly.

"My goodness," said the Lion, "I thought girls were vain, but boys are worse!"

"That _can't_ be me," said Ridgwell.

"Well, it isn't me," grumbled the Lion, "that's certain."

Christine peeped over the shoulder of Ridgwell's golden tunic.

"It's like us," said Christine, "but yet it isn't us at all."

"That is what people always say when they see their own photographs for the first time," observed the Lion wisely. "Ha!" broke off the Lion, "here come the dogs."

"Have you placed the two long troughs at the far end for them?"

demanded the Lion.

"Yes," chorussed the little lions.

"What have you filled them with?" questioned the Lion.

"Finest mutton and chicken bones in one," laughed Carry-on-Merry, "water in the other."

"Have you remembered their special strip of comfortable carpet?" asked the Lion anxiously.

"It's there," grinned Carry-on-Merry.

"Why are the stray dogs to have a strip of special comfortable carpet?"

asked Christine.

"Because they like to pick the bones afterwards upon the carpet," said the Lion; "it's a little habit of theirs, and they are not so highly trained as we are."

A most extraordinary procession now made its appearance before them.

The children might have thought it was a Noah's Ark, only the dogs advanced in fours. Newfoundlands, St. Bernards, Mastiffs, Retrievers, every conceivable dog down to tiny fox terriers, Spaniels and Yorks.h.i.+re terriers. They all looked very happy and their coats shone as if they had been lately washed and had afterwards dried themselves in the golden rays of the warm sun, which even now seemed to linger over them.

"Lovely creatures," said Christine.

"Ripping," said Ridgwell, "they are dears."

"Started to munch their bones already," grunted the Lion. "Well, they're not so highly educated as we are. A party to them is a party, and they don't wait for anybody, which, after all, is the proper thing to do. Where's the Griffin?" demanded the Lion of Carry-on-Merry, after that intelligent creature, having acted like a verger (a habit he had probably acquired from a life-long proximity to Westminster Abbey), had shown all the dogs to their places along one side where the comfortable carpet formed a sort of aisle.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Carry-on-Merry, "the Griffin is late."

"He's always late," grumbled the Lion, "his head's weak, and he never can remember what time a party starts."

"Here he comes," grunted Carry-on-Merry, "and, oh! my goodness, what _does_ he look like?"

"Absolutely ludicrous as usual," said the Lion.

The Griffin presented an intensely comical appearance. Wis.h.i.+ng to keep up the dignity of the City, he had chosen for his party-dress a scarlet Lord Mayor's robe, edged with fur, which he had folded around himself in an exceedingly ridiculous fas.h.i.+on.

Upon his head, as he believed it to be becoming, he had placed jauntily sideways, an immense green dunce's cap from one of the children's giant crackers, which the Griffin had pulled as he entered the doors.

The Griffin had decided to adorn his front feet with strips of scarlet flannel, because he declared that he had chilblains, and furthermore, his paws were exceedingly tender after his encounter upon the previous evening with St. George.

It was thus that the Griffin ambled in trailing his Lord Mayor's robes behind him, and smiling aimlessly from right to left upon everybody present.

"Has everybody missed me?" sn.i.g.g.e.red the Griffin. "I fear I'm late!"

"n.o.body has missed you at all," retorted the Pleasant-Faced Lion.

The Griffin looked hurt for a moment.

"Oh, surely, Lal," entreated the Griffin; "_surely_ some one missed me!"

"No," said the Lion firmly.

The corners of the Griffin's mouth trembled.

"Now then," said the Lion, sternly, "no emotion."

"No! no! Lal," faltered the Griffin, "but when I think of that lovely saying, 'Everybody's Loved by Some one'----"