Chapter 4 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.

"All right," said the Sage, "this is a lot of birds' tales all tied up together, and is called a fable--"

"The gossiping goose."

"Is it one of ?sop's?" asked Dick, who thought that it would look grand for him to have heard of ?sop's fables.

"No, it isn't," said the Sage, rather crossly; "it's one of my own! Now then, are you ready? I call it-"

"THE GOSSIPING GOOSE."

"A Crested Grebe, a Spoonbill, and a Goose,

I beg to say,

Met one fine day,

And compliments were passed the most profuse.

"How very well you look, my dear," said one,

"That shade of red

Upon your head,

So sweet; and how delightfully your hair is done."

And each had gratifying things to say,

With gushing smile,

Upon the style

Of all the others' holiday array.

Then Mrs. Goose, with most superior sneer,

Said, "Have you seen

That dress of green

That Mrs. Peacock's wearing now, my dear?

"She looks a perfect guy, and then-her feet

And legs! Oh, lor!

I never saw

A bird so clumsy, or so indiscreet.

"I met her at the Concert Hall last week,

A poor affair,

I do declare,

I wonder that the Songsters have such cheek.

"Miss Nightingale was singing far too loud;

I never heard

So harsh a bird,

I wonder how she dared to face the crowd.

"Miss Thrush had quite a decent voice, I hear,

Some years ago

(A score or so),

But now her voice is giving way, I fear.

"She sang as badly as did Mrs. Lark,

Who all agreed,

Had every need

Of lessons, to bring her up to the mark.

"Miss Linnet had a really dreadful cough.

As for the rest,

They quite distressed

The company. Well, good-by, dears. I'm off."

And, while the Spoonbill and the other bird

Went on their way,

I heard one say,

"That Mrs. Goose is really most absurd.

"She talks about the Peacock's gaudy dress:

If she prefers

That gray of hers,

I don't admire her taste, I must confess.

"And as for legs and feet-well, I declare,

The pair she's got

Are really not

The kind that I'd be seen with anywhere.

"While as for singing, that she should complain

Of other folk

Is past a joke,

I vow I'll not be friends with her again."

"My dear," the other said, "remember this:

A critic she

Of high degree,

For though she can't sing well, the goose can hiss.""

The Sage had scarcely finished when a sound of weeping and wailing was heard, and presently a whole troop of gnomes appeared in the onion field. They were crying bitterly, and to the children's great surprise several of them had grown enormously tall and others equally stout.

They came straight up to the Sage's hut, and with tears streaming down their faces beseeched him to help them. They had foolishly been making use of the authority which the Little Panjandrum's Ambassador had given to the children; and although it acted one way, and made them the size that they wished to be, it would not turn them back again.

"They were crying bitterly."

"And my wife and family refuse to have anything to do with me," said one ridiculously tall individual.

"And I can't squeeze into my own house, anyhow," wept the stout one.

"The only way," said the Sage, after a moment's thought, with his forehead wrinkled into deep furrows, "is to send the Ki-Wi to the Court of the Little Panjandrum for a fresh authority. It's no use your having this one back if it won't act properly, is it?" he inquired, turning to the children.

"Certainly not," said Dick; "but who is the Ki-Wi, please?"

"Oh, he's the Court Messenger," explained the Sage, "and is the only one here allowed to enter the Court of the Little Panjandrum without permission."

"Go and fetch him," he continued.

And the gnomes disappeared, returning presently with the Ki-Wi (who turned out to be a curious kind of bird), and the written authority, which had been taken from the children.

"Let me look at it," said the Sage, holding out his hand for the paper.

"Produced a large document and began to read."

"Why, no wonder it won't act for the gnomes," he exclaimed, when he had read it.

"It mentions you all by name-just try it yourselves, will you?"

Dick took the paper from him, and said loudly, "We wish to be our own size again."

To their great delight the children at once found themselves their usual height, and the onions, which had looked before like huge trees, now only reached a little above their heads, while the Sage and the other gnomes looked the tiniest little creatures again.

"This is better," said Dick, shaking himself as though he had come out of the water.

"Yes, isn't it good to be ourselves once more," said Marjorie.

While Fidge jumped about delightedly, breaking down several of the onion plants, and almost treading on the Sage's hut.

"Don't caper about like a lot of lunatics," shouted the little man, angrily. "Come and sit down and talk business. The Ki-Wi has something to tell you."

All excitement to know what it could be, the children sat down again, and the Ki-Wi after fumbling about in his coat tail for some time, produced a large document and began to read.

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