Dick, Marjorie and Fidge: A Search for the Wonderful Dodo
"No, it's rather horrid," said Dick. "Let's see; we said as tall as the
Pater, didn't we?--not as _big_. I wonder if that makes any difference."
"I want to be as fat as old Mrs. Mofflet," said Fidge, mischievously.
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he dwindled down to his
usual height, and spread out in girth till he exactly resembled, in
appearance, what one looks like in a concave mirror--that is, he was
about twice as wide as he was high.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! That's worse than ever!" laughed the children,
while little Fidge waddled about in an absurd way.
The gnomes were highly amused, and cut the most extraordinary antics in
their glee.
"I think perhaps the best thing to do for the present would be to wish
ourselves as we were," said Dick. "I have no doubt it wi be very
useful by and by to be any size we like, but just now it's rather
awkward."
"Oh, let's be little, like the gnomes," cried Marjorie. "It will be such
fun."
"All right," acquiesced Dick; "here goes--I wish I were as little as the
gnomes."
"So do I," cried Marjorie.
"Me, too!" cried Fidge.
To their great surprise, nothing happened. They waited a moment or two,
staring at each other expectantly, and then Marjorie cried in a
troubled voice--
"Oh, dear! I don't believe it's going to work, and we shall have to stay
like this forever."
"What nonsense!" cried Dick.
"I say! I want to be as small as the gnomes," he shouted.
There was no result, however, and the children remained as they were.
"Oh! I know," he cried; "I ought to have the paper that the Ambassador
gave me in my hand. Where is it?"
There was a great whispering amongst the gnomes, and at last one of them
shouted out--
"We've taken it away."
"What for?" demanded Dick. "It was given to us; you had better give it
up at once. What do you mean by it?"
There was another whispered consultation, and then one of the gnomes
said, "Let them have it for now," and the paper was put down upon the
ground at Dick's feet.
Dick stooped down and picked it up, and immediately the children began
to dwindle down till they became as small as the little people
themselves.
They had no sooner done so than the paper which the Ambassador had given
them was suddenly snatched from Dick's hand and a number of the gnomes
surrounded them, dancing about, turning somersaults, playing leap-frog,
and capering about in the maddest way.
"Well, you've done it now," said one of them, tauntingly.
"What do you mean?" inquired Dick.
"Why, we've got the paper, and you can't grow any bigger until we allow
you to."
"What a mean trick!" cried Dick, in disgust.
"Well, we don't think it at all fair," said the gnomes, "that you should
be able to grow any size that you want to, while we have to keep little,
so we are going to keep you here for a little while, and teach you to
believe in fairies, do you see?"
"But we've got to find the Dodo in a week," expostulated Dick, "and if
you keep us here, however are we to do that?"
"Oh, please give us the paper back," begged Marjorie. "I'm sure the
Pater will be so vexed if we never grow any bigger than this any more."
And she began to cry a little.
You see, such a lot of very unusual things had happened that she was a
little excited and nervous.
"Well, we'll think about it," said the gnomes, running away and hiding
among the rocks.
"Don't cry, Marjorie," said Dick, bravely, though he too felt a little
anxious himself; for, you see, eleven inches is not very tall for any
one to be, and he didn't care to admit what would happen if he went back
to school in his present state.
"Chappel Minor has always been cheeky," he thought, "and so have Martin
and Foster, and if I keep this size they will think they can do just as
they like with me, and probably will turn me out of the cricket eleven,
while that little wretch of a Castleton is sure to sneak all my
pencils--he does now when he gets a chance." However, he kept these
doleful thoughts to himself, and devoted himself to the task of
consoling his sister and Fidge, and had soon talked them into such a
cheerful frame of mind, that they really began to think that it was
rather an advantage than otherwise to have lost the paper.
"For one thing, we shall not have to hunt for that old Dodo,"
argued Dick, "because even the Grand Panjandrum himself, whoever
he may be, could not expect us to go far away while we remain as
little as this, and so we are not in such great danger of
being--er--er--thingummybobbed--you know--what the Ambassador said we
should be, if we didn't find the wretched thing."
"Supposing we try and find the Ambassador," suggested Marjorie. "I don't
think he was really very cross, only a little abrupt, you know; and we
could explain everything to him, and perhaps he would give us a new
paper."
"All right," said Dick, leading the way. "At any rate, he will be able
to make us grow bigger--that is, if we wish to," he added, with a fine
affectation of unconcern.
The children walked on for some time in the direction in which the
Ambassador and his followers had disappeared, and they soon found
themselves out of the cave and in a kind of forest.
"What funny trees," said Fidge, looking up over his head.
The others followed his example, and found that he had good cause for
his surprise; the long, smooth trunks, without any leaves, ended in a
kind of ball, while at the roots a kind of enormous bulb appeared.
"Whatever can they be?" cried Marjorie, in amazement.
"Onions!" was the reply, spoken by a strange voice.
The children turned around, and beheld a curious little old man with a
long flowing beard coming toward them.
"Have you any other questions to ask?" he inquired, pleasantly.
"It's very kind of you, Sir," said Dick, who was the first to recover
from the surprise which they had all experienced at this sudden
apparition. "Will you, please, tell us where we are?"
"Oh," said the little man, with a smile, "this is the Field of Onions.
And I am the Sage with the snowy beard who dwells in the Field of
Onions. And that is the Hut of curious build which belongs to the Sage
with the snowy beard who dwells in the Field of Onions.
"Is there anything else I can tell you? If so, pray ask me. I like it."
"What a funny man," whispered Marjorie. "Do you think he is quite right
in his head?"
"Hush!" said Dick. "Perhaps he can direct us to the Little Panjandrum's,
and then we can find the Ambassador easily."
"Little Panjandrum's, certainly," said the Sage, answering exactly as
though he had been spoken to himself--
"'Take the first to the right on Tuesday week,
The second to the left on Monday;
On Friday you'll not have far to seek,
And be sure not to travel on Sunday!'
"But it's no use going at all till you've found the Dodo," he added.
"Good gracious! how did you know that we were looking for it," cried
Dick.
"Oh, I know everything," said the Sage, complacently. "Did you ever know
a Sage who didn't?"
"I'm afraid I've never known one at all before, Sir," said Dick; "but I
should think it must be very useful to know such a lot, isn't it?"
"Yes, it isn't bad," admitted the Sage; "would you like to know how I
became so clever?"
"Oh, yes, please," cried all the children at once.
Motioning them to a seat on an onion bulb, the little man struck an
attitude, and began--
"I was brought up on Verbs of irregular kind,
With a Pronoun or two as a treat,
While a strict course of Logic, to strengthen my mind,
My pastors and masters thought meet.
I had Lessons for breakfast, and Sums for my tea,
Learnt to play the Arithmetic nicely,
And gained all the prizes at School--don't you see,
For construing Doggerel concisely.
They were Isms, and Ologies, Science, and Cram,
Quadratic Equations, and Butter,
The _Pons asinorum_, and Strawberry Jam,
And the Cane, did I mumble or mutter."
CHAPTER IV.
STORIES AND TAILS BY THE SAGE.
"Do you mean to say," inquired Dick, when the Sage had finished, "that
all those last things were prizes; because, if so, there isn't a single
one of them that I should have cared for much, except the Strawberry
Jam?"
"That only shows a great want of taste on your part," said the old Sage,
severely. "Isms and Ologies, and things of that sort, are very tasty,
when you become used to them."
"What are Isms and Ologies, if you please, Sir?" asked Marjorie.
"Oh, there are various kinds," was the reply. "There's Ge-Ology, for
instance, which is lovely spread on bread-and-butter; and Zo-Ology, with
Aphor-Ism sauce, is simply delicious."
"They don't sound very nice," said Marjorie, dubiously, making a wry
face.
"You don't know anything at all about it, I'm afraid, my dear," said the
little old man, decidedly. "You would probably prefer dolls and
foolishness of that sort!"
"Yes, I think I should," admitted Marjorie, candidly.
"Do you know _everything_, please, Mr. Sage?" inquired Fidge, who had
been very silent during this conversation, which he had not in the least
been able to understand.
"Yes, my dear," said the Sage, smiling affably.
"Stories?" inquired Fidge, his eyes wide open with excitement and
interest.
The old man nodded.
"Oh! do tell us one, please," begged the little boy. "The Three Bears,
or Little Red Riding Hood, or something of that sort."
"Fidge, Fidge," cried Dick, rebukingly, "you mustn't bother the
gentleman."
"Oh, I don't mind in the least," said the Sage, pleasantly. "I'll tell
him some stories, if he likes."
"Oh! thanks, that's jolly!" cried Fidge, clapping his hands, and they
all sat down again, while the old man began as follows:--
"It was on a dark winter's night, and the hot sun was pouring down upon
the----"
"Oh!" interrupted Marjorie, "I beg your pardon, but haven't you made a
mistake? It couldn't have been dark, you know, if the sun was shining."
The Sage frowned severely.
"Are you telling this story, or am I?" he asked, coldly.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Marjorie, "please go on."
"Was pouring down upon the ship," continued the Sage, "and almost
freezing the poor soldiers, who had great difficulty as it was, in
dragging the heavy cannon up the steep side of the mountain, upon which
he was standing; still leaning over the side of the balloon, she peered
down eagerly into the sky. There was not a soul in sight.
"Suddenly a cry of 'Fire!' rang through the town, and two or three of
them hastily putting on their best clothes, joined the picnic party
under the gnarled oak tree in the meadow, and their joyous laughter rang
merrily down the old staircase, where the grandfather's clock stood,
tick-tick-ticking, like the great volcano which yawned at their very
feet, and into which the two boys plunged merrily, and were soon
splashing about in the shallow water like a mahogany chest of drawers
upon the sands of time."
The Sage paused.
"Do you like it?" he inquired, anxiously.
"Not much, I'm afraid," said Dick. "You see, we can't quite understand
what it's all about."
"Well, neither do I," said the Sage, "because, you know, I'm making it
up as I go along."
"Then it isn't true?" asked Marjorie.
"True? Nonsense! You wanted a story, didn't you? This is a real story;
there isn't a particle of truth in it anywhere."
"Oh, we didn't mean that kind of story," explained Marjorie, "we meant a
tale."
"What kind of a tale would you like--a Fishes' tale, a Birds' tale, or
an Animals' tale?"
"A birds' tale, please," said Marjorie, after consulting the others.