-
"Which is the wrong way?", Sylvie most reasonably enquired. The obvious plan was to try both ways.
Rubbing from left to right had no visible effect whatever.
From right to left---- "Oh, stop, Sylvie!" Bruno cried in sudden alarm. "Whatever is going to happen?"
For a number of trees, on the neighbouring hillside, were moving slowly upwards, in solemn procession: while a mild little brook, that had been rippling at our feet a moment before, began to swell, and foam, and hiss, and bubble, in a truly alarming fashion.
"Rub it some other way!" cried Bruno. "Try up-and-down! Quick!"
It was a happy thought. Up-and-down did it: and the landscape, which had been showing signs of mental aberration in various directions, returned to its normal condition of sobriety with the exception of a small yellowish-brown mouse, which continued to run wildly up and down the road, lashing its tail like a little lion.
"Let's follow it," said Sylvie: and this also turned out a happy thought. The mouse at once settled down into a business-like jog-trot, with which we could easily keep pace. The only phenomenon, that gave me any uneasiness, was the rapid increase in the size of the little creature we were following, which became every moment more and more like a real lion.
Soon the transformation was complete: and a noble lion stood patiently waiting for us to come up with it. No thought of fear seemed to occur to the children, who patted and stroked it as if it had been a Shetland-pony.
- "Help me up!" cried Bruno. And in another moment Sylvie had lifted him upon the broad back of the
gentle beast, and seated herself behind him, pillion-fashion. Bruno took a good handful of mane in each
hand, and made believe to guide this new kind of steed. "Gee-up!', seemed quite sufficient by way of
verbal direction: the lion at once broke into an easy canter, and we soon found ourselves in the depths of
the forest. I say 'we,' for I am certain that I accompanied them though how I managed to keep up with
a cantering lion I am wholly unable to explain. But I was certainly one of the party when we came upon
an old beggar-man cutting sticks, at whose feet the lion made a profound obeisance, Sylvie and Bruno
at the same moment dismounting, and leaping in to the arms of their father.
"From bad to worse!" the old man said to himself, dreamily, when the children had finished their rather confused account of the Ambassador's visit, gathered no doubt from general report, as they had not seen him themselves. "From bad to worse! That is their destiny. I see it, but I cannot alter it. The selfishness of a mean and crafty man----the selfishness of an ambitious and silly woman--- the selfishness of a spiteful and loveless child all tend one way, from bad to worse! And you, my darlings, must suffer it awhile, I fear. Yet, when things are at their worst, you can come to me. I can do but little as yet----"
Gathering up a handful of dust and scattering it in the air, he slowly and solemnly pronounced some words that sounded like a charm, the children looking on in awe-struck silence:-
- "Let craft, ambition, spite,
- Be quenched in Reason's night,
- Till weakness turn to might,
- Till what is dark be light,
- Till what is wrong be right!" The cloud of dust spread itself out through the air, as if it were alive, forming
curious shapes that were for ever changing into others.
"It makes letters! It makes words!" Bruno whispered, as he clung, half-frightened, to Sylvie. "Only I ca'n't make them out! Read them, Sylvie!"
"I'll try," Sylvie gravely replied. "Wait a minute----if only I could see that word----"
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