remarkable.'
'Here's a lake,' Hodgkins said. 'Artificial too.'
We looked at it with suspicion. Small brightly painted dinghies bearing the Autocratical colours lay on the beach. Friendly-looking trees were leaning out over the clear water.
'I don't quite believe it,' muttered the Joxter and chose himself an orange-coloured boat with an azure railing.
We were out in the middle of the lake when the next surprise overtook us.
A strong jet of water shot up between our boats and drenched us to the skin. The Nibling howled frightfully.
Before we reached the other beach we had four more showers, and on the shore we found another placard asking us:
WET - AREN'T YOU?
'Funny kind of garden party,' muttered Hodgkins.
'I like it,' said the Joxter. 'Daddy Jones must be a singular person.'
Now we came to a whole network of canals with a maze of bridges. In the difficult places you had to cross on rotten
old tree-trunks or on suspended lianas. But nothing special happened, except that the Nibling dived head first into a mud bank.
Suddenly the Joxter exclaimed: 'At last! Here's a new joke! But this time he won't pull my leg!' And the Joxter walked straight up to a big stuffed bull and gave it a smack on the muzzle.
Only the big bull wasn't stuffed. It was very much alive and gave a terrific bellow. We fled head over heels behind a dense hedge where another placard was awaiting us:
DIDN'T THINK SO - DID YOU?
By and by we became accustomed to the surprises. We wandered further and further, deeper and deeper into Daddy Jones's garden, through leafy caverns and secret hiding-places, under waterfalls and over new abysses with Bengal lights. But the Autocrat had provided his guests with other things than trap-doors, explosions, and wire spring monsters. If you looked carefully at the roots of bushes, in hollow trees and cracks in the rocks you some times found small nests containing one or more brightly painted or golden eggs. Each egg had a number on it.
I found numbers 67, 14, 890, 223, and 27.
It was Daddy Jones's Royal Lottery.
We all became quite crazy with egg-hunting. The Nibling found most of the eggs, but it was hard to make him understand that it would be better to save them for the draw than to eat them on the spot.
Hodgkins came a good second, then I, and then the Joxter who was too lazy to search in earnest, and lastly the Muddler whose only method consisted in hopping around.
Finally we found one end of a long red and yellow rope that was slung between the trees and tied in beautiful bows. As we followed it we began to hear a medley of happy whoops, shots, and music. The party seemed to be in full swing.
'I think I'll stay here and wait for you,' said the Nibling a little nervously. 'There's such a lot of people.'
'As you like,' said Hodgkins. 'Only keep still so we can find you again.'
We were standing at the outskirts of a great open meadow. We looked, simply enraptured. In the middle of the meadow stood a large circular house that seemed to whirl round and round. It was full of fluttering pennants and white horses in shining silver harness, and an orchestra played all the time.
'What on earth's that?' I asked excitedly.
'A merry-go-round,' Hodgkins replied. 'Don't you remember? I drew it for you once. Cross section of the engine.'
'You didn't draw it like this,' I protested. 'It's all horses and music and flags and gold!'
'And cog wheels,' said Hodgkins.
'Ginger ale, please?' asked a big Hemulen in a definitely unbecoming pinafore (I've always said so: Hemulens have no taste). She gave us each a glass and said importantly:
'You'll have to go and wish Daddy Jones many happy returns of the day. It's his hundredth birthday, you know.'
I took my glass of ginger ale in a shaky paw and looked up towards the Autocrat's throne. For the first time in my life I beheld a real King! He was terribly old and wrinkly and merry and he was stamping time to the music so that his throne wobbled. Under it he kept a fog
'Here's a lake,' Hodgkins said. 'Artificial too.'
We looked at it with suspicion. Small brightly painted dinghies bearing the Autocratical colours lay on the beach. Friendly-looking trees were leaning out over the clear water.
'I don't quite believe it,' muttered the Joxter and chose himself an orange-coloured boat with an azure railing.
We were out in the middle of the lake when the next surprise overtook us.
A strong jet of water shot up between our boats and drenched us to the skin. The Nibling howled frightfully.
Before we reached the other beach we had four more showers, and on the shore we found another placard asking us:
WET - AREN'T YOU?
'Funny kind of garden party,' muttered Hodgkins.
'I like it,' said the Joxter. 'Daddy Jones must be a singular person.'
Now we came to a whole network of canals with a maze of bridges. In the difficult places you had to cross on rotten
old tree-trunks or on suspended lianas. But nothing special happened, except that the Nibling dived head first into a mud bank.
Suddenly the Joxter exclaimed: 'At last! Here's a new joke! But this time he won't pull my leg!' And the Joxter walked straight up to a big stuffed bull and gave it a smack on the muzzle.
Only the big bull wasn't stuffed. It was very much alive and gave a terrific bellow. We fled head over heels behind a dense hedge where another placard was awaiting us:
DIDN'T THINK SO - DID YOU?
By and by we became accustomed to the surprises. We wandered further and further, deeper and deeper into Daddy Jones's garden, through leafy caverns and secret hiding-places, under waterfalls and over new abysses with Bengal lights. But the Autocrat had provided his guests with other things than trap-doors, explosions, and wire spring monsters. If you looked carefully at the roots of bushes, in hollow trees and cracks in the rocks you some times found small nests containing one or more brightly painted or golden eggs. Each egg had a number on it.
I found numbers 67, 14, 890, 223, and 27.
It was Daddy Jones's Royal Lottery.
We all became quite crazy with egg-hunting. The Nibling found most of the eggs, but it was hard to make him understand that it would be better to save them for the draw than to eat them on the spot.
Hodgkins came a good second, then I, and then the Joxter who was too lazy to search in earnest, and lastly the Muddler whose only method consisted in hopping around.
Finally we found one end of a long red and yellow rope that was slung between the trees and tied in beautiful bows. As we followed it we began to hear a medley of happy whoops, shots, and music. The party seemed to be in full swing.
'I think I'll stay here and wait for you,' said the Nibling a little nervously. 'There's such a lot of people.'
'As you like,' said Hodgkins. 'Only keep still so we can find you again.'
We were standing at the outskirts of a great open meadow. We looked, simply enraptured. In the middle of the meadow stood a large circular house that seemed to whirl round and round. It was full of fluttering pennants and white horses in shining silver harness, and an orchestra played all the time.
'What on earth's that?' I asked excitedly.
'A merry-go-round,' Hodgkins replied. 'Don't you remember? I drew it for you once. Cross section of the engine.'
'You didn't draw it like this,' I protested. 'It's all horses and music and flags and gold!'
'And cog wheels,' said Hodgkins.
'Ginger ale, please?' asked a big Hemulen in a definitely unbecoming pinafore (I've always said so: Hemulens have no taste). She gave us each a glass and said importantly:
'You'll have to go and wish Daddy Jones many happy returns of the day. It's his hundredth birthday, you know.'
I took my glass of ginger ale in a shaky paw and looked up towards the Autocrat's throne. For the first time in my life I beheld a real King! He was terribly old and wrinkly and merry and he was stamping time to the music so that his throne wobbled. Under it he kept a fog
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