And so it came to pass that, just a week after the day when myFairy-friends first appeared as Children, I found myself taking afarewell-stroll through the wood, in the hope of meeting them oncemore. I had but to stretch myself on the smooth turf, and the 'eerie'feeling was on me in a moment.

"Put oor ear welly low down," said Bruno, "and I'll tell oo a secret!It's the Frogs' Birthday-Treat--and we've lost the Baby!"

"What Baby?" I said, quite bewildered by this complicated piece of news.

"The Queen's Baby, a course!" said Bruno. "Titania's Baby. And we'swelly sorry. Sylvie, she's--oh so sorry!"

"How sorry is she?" I asked, mischievously.

"Three-quarters of a yard," Bruno replied with perfect solemnity."And I'm a little sorry too," he added, shutting his eyes so as notto see that he was smiling.

"And what are you doing about the Baby?"

"Well, the soldiers are all looking for it--up and down everywhere."

"The soldiers?" I exclaimed.

"Yes, a course!" said Bruno. "When there's no fighting to be done,the soldiers doos any little odd jobs, oo know."

I was amused at the idea of its being a 'little odd job' to find theRoyal Baby. "But how did you come to lose it?" I asked.

"We put it in a flower," Sylvie, who had just joined us, explained withher eyes full of tears. "Only we ca'n't remember which!"

"She says us put it in a flower," Bruno interrupted, "'cause she doosn'twant I to get punished. But it were really me what put it there.Sylvie were picking Dindledums."

[Image...The queen's baby]

"You shouldn't say 'us put it in a flower'," Sylvie very gravely remarked.

"Well, hus, then," said Bruno. "I never can remember those horrid H's!"

"Let me help you to look for it," I said. So Sylvie and I made a'voyage of discovery' among all the flowers; but there was no Baby tobe seen.

"What's become of Bruno?" I said, when we had completed our tour.

"He's down in the ditch there," said Sylvie, "amusing a young Frog."

I went down on my hands and knees to look for him, for I felt verycurious to know how young Frogs ought to be amused. After a minute'ssearch, I found him sitting at the edge of the ditch, by the side ofthe little Frog, and looking rather disconsolate.

"How are you getting on, Bruno?" I said, nodding to him as he looked up.

"Ca'n't amuse it no more," Bruno answered, very dolefully, "'cause itwon't say what it would like to do next! I've showed it all theduck-weeds--and a live caddis-worm--- but it won't say nuffin!What--would oo like?' he shouted into the ear of the Frog:but the little creature sat quite still, and took no notice of him."It's deaf, I think!" Bruno said, turning away with a sigh."And it's time to get the Theatre ready."

"Who are the audience to be?"

"Only but Frogs," said Bruno. "But they haven't comed yet.They wants to be drove up, like sheep."

"Would it save time," I suggested, "if I were to walk round withSylvie, to drive up the Frogs, while you get the Theatre ready?"

"That are a good plan!" cried Bruno. "But where are Sylvie?"

"I'm here!" said Sylvie, peeping over the edge of the bank."I was just watching two Frogs that were having a race."

"Which won it? "Bruno eagerly inquired.

Sylvie was puzzled. "He does ask such hard questions!"she confided to me.

"And what's to happen in the Theatre?" I asked.

"First they have their Birthday-Feast," Sylvie said: "then Bruno doessome Bits of Shakespeare; then he tells them a Story."

"I should think the Frogs like the Feast best. Don't they?"

"Well, there's generally very few of them that get any. They will keeptheir mouths shut so tight! And it's just as well they do," she added,"because Bruno likes to cook it himself: and he cooks very queerly."Now they're all in. Would you just help me to put them with theirheads the right way?"

We soon managed this part of the business, though the Frogs kept up amost discontented croaking all the time.

"What are they saying?" I asked Sylvie.

"They're saying 'Fork! Fork!' It's very silly of them! You're notgoing to have forks!" she announced with some severity. "Those thatwant any Feast have just got to open their mouths, and Bruno 'll putsome of it in!"

At this moment Bruno appeared, wearing a little white apron to showthat he was a Cook, and carrying a tureen full of very queer-lookingsoup. I watched very carefully as he moved about among the Frogs;but I could not see that any of them opened their mouths to be fed--except one very young one, and I'm nearly sure it did it accidentally,in yawning. However Bruno instantly put a large spoonful of soup intoits mouth, and the poor little thing coughed violently for some time.

So Sylvie and I had to share the soup between us, and to pretend toenjoy it, for it certainly was very queerly cooked.

I only ventured to take one spoonful of it ("Sylvie's Summer-Soup,"Bruno said it was), and must candidly confess that it was not at allnice; and I could not feel surprised that so many of the guests hadkept their mouths shut up tight.

"What's the soup made of, Bruno?" said Sylvie, who had put a spoonfulof it to her lips, and was making a wry face over it.

And Bruno's answer was anything but encouraging. "Bits of things!"

The entertainment was to conclude with "Bits of Shakespeare," as Sylvieexpressed it, which were all to be done by Bruno, Sylvie being fullyengaged in making the Frogs keep their heads towards the stage:after which Bruno was to appear in his real character, and tell them aStory of his own invention.

"Will the Story have a Moral to it?" I asked Sylvie, while Bruno wasaway behind the hedge, dressing for the first 'Bit.'

"I think so," Sylvie replied doubtfully. "There generally is a Moral,only he puts it in too soon."

"And will he say all the Bits of Shakespeare?"

"No, he'll only act them," said Sylvie. "He knows hardly any of thewords. When I see what he's dressed like, I've to tell the Frogswhat character it is. They're always in such a hurry to guess!Don't you hear them all saying 'What? What?'" And so indeed they were:it had only sounded like croaking, till Sylvie explained it, but I couldnow make out the "Wawt? Wawt?" quite distinctly.

"But why do they try to guess it before they see it?"

"I don't know," Sylvie said: "but they always do. Sometimes they beginguessing weeks and weeks before the day!"

(So now, when you hear the Frogs croaking in a particularly melancholyway, you may be sure they're trying to guess Bruno's next Shakespeare'Bit'. Isn't that interesting?)

However, the chorus of guessing was cut short by Bruno, who suddenlyrushed on from behind the scenes, and took a flying leap down among theFrogs, to re-arrange them.

For the oldest and fattest Frog--who had never been properly arrangedso that he could see the stage, and so had no idea what was goingon--was getting restless, and had upset several of the Frogs, andturned others round with their heads the wrong way. And it was no goodat all, Bruno said, to do a 'Bit' of Shakespeare when there was nobodyto look at it (you see he didn't count me as anybody). So he set towork with a stick, stirring them up, very much as you would stir up teain a cup, till most of them had at least one great stupid eye gazing atthe stage.

"Oo must come and sit among them, Sylvie," he said in despair, "I'veput these two side-by-side, with their noses the same way, ever so manytimes, but they do squarrel so!"

So Sylvie took her place as 'Mistress of the Ceremonies,' and Brunovanished again behind the scenes, to dress for the first 'Bit.'

"Hamlet!" was suddenly proclaimed, in the clear sweet tones I knew sowell. The croaking all ceased in a moment, and I turned to the stage,in some curiosity to see what Bruno's ideas were as to the behaviour ofShakespeare's greatest Character.

According to this eminent interpreter of the Drama, Hamlet wore a shortblack cloak (which he chiefly used for muffling up his face, as if hesuffered a good deal from toothache), and turned out his toes very muchas he walked. "To be or not to be!" Hamlet remarked in a cheerfultone, and then turned head-over-heels several times, his cloak droppingoff in the performance.

I felt a little disappointed: Bruno's conception of the part seemed sowanting in dignity. "Won't he say any more of the speech?" I whisperedto Sylvie.

"I think not," Sylvie whispered in reply. "He generally turnshead-over-heels when he doesn't know any more words."

Bruno had meanwhile settled the question by disappearing from thestage; and the Frogs instantly began inquiring the name of the nextCharacter.

"You'll know directly!" cried Sylvie, as she adjusted two or threeyoung Frogs that had struggled round with their backs to the stage."Macbeth!" she added, as Bruno re-appeared.

Macbeth had something twisted round him, that went over one shoulderand under the other arm, and was meant, I believe, for a Scotch plaid.He had a thorn in his hand, which he held out at arm's length, as if hewere a little afraid of it. "Is this a dagger?" Macbeth inquired, in apuzzled sort of tone: and instantly a chorus of "Thorn! Thorn!" arosefrom the Frogs (I had quite learned to understand their croaking bythis time).

"It's a dagger!" Sylvie proclaimed in a peremptory tone."Hold your tongues!" And the croaking ceased at once.

Shakespeare has not told us, so far as I know, that Macbeth had anysuch eccentric habit as turning head-over-heels in private life: butBruno evidently considered it quite an essential part of the character,and left the stage in a series of somersaults. However, he was backagain in a few moments, having tucked under his chin the end of a tuftof wool (probably left on the thorn by a wandering sheep), which made amagnificent beard, that reached nearly down to his feet.

"Shylock!" Sylvie proclaimed. "No, I beg your pardon!" she hastilycorrected herself, "King Lear! I hadn't noticed the crown."(Bruno had very cleverly provided one, which fitted him exactly,by cutting out the centre of a dandelion to make room for his head.)

King Lear folded his arms (to the imminent peril of his beard) andsaid, in a mild explanatory tone, "Ay, every inch a king!" and thenpaused, as if to consider how this could best be proved. And here,with all possible deference to Bruno as a Shakespearian critic, I mustexpress my opinion that the poet did not mean his three great tragicheroes to be so strangely alike in their personal habits; nor do Ibelieve that he would have accepted the faculty of turninghead-over-heels as any proof at all of royal descent. Yet it appearedthat King Lear, after deep meditation, could think of no other argumentby which to prove his kingship: and, as this was the last of the 'Bits'of Shakespeare ("We never do more than three," Sylvie explained in awhisper), Bruno gave the audience quite a long series of somersaultsbefore he finally retired, leaving the enraptured Frogs all crying out"More! More!" which I suppose was their way of encoring a performance.But Bruno wouldn't appear again, till the proper time came for tellingthe Story.

[Image...The frogs' birthday-treat]

When he appeared at last in his real character, I noticed a remarkablechange in his behaviour.

He tried no more somersaults. It was clearly his opinion that, howeversuitable the habit of turning head-over-heels might be to such pettyindividuals as Hamlet and King Lear, it would never do for Bruno tosacrifice his dignity to such an extent. But it was equally clear thathe did not feel entirely at his ease, standing all alone on the stage,with no costume to disguise him: and though he began, several times,

"There were a Mouse--," he kept glancing up and down, and on all sides,as if in search of more comfortable quarters from which to tell theStory. Standing on one side of the stage, and partly overshadowing it,was a tall foxglove, which seemed, as the evening breeze gently swayedit hither and thither, to offer exactly the sort of accommodation thatthe orator desired. Having once decided on his quarters, it neededonly a second or two for him to run up the stem like a tiny squirrel,and to seat himself astride on the topmost bend, where the fairy-bellsclustered most closely, and from whence he could look down on hisaudience from such a height that all shyness vanished, and he began hisStory merrily.

"Once there were a Mouse and a Crocodile and a Man and a Goat and aLion." I had never heard the 'dramatis personae' tumbled into a storywith such profusion and in such reckless haste; and it fairly took mybreath away. Even Sylvie gave a little gasp, and allowed three of theFrogs, who seemed to be getting tired of the entertainment, to hop awayinto the ditch, without attempting to stop them.

"And the Mouse found a Shoe, and it thought it were a Mouse-trap.So it got right in, and it stayed in ever so long."

"Why did it stay in?" said Sylvie. Her function seemed to be much thesame as that of the Chorus in a Greek Play: she had to encourage theorator, and draw him out, by a series of intelligent questions.

"'Cause it thought it couldn't get out again," Bruno explained."It were a clever mouse. It knew it couldn't get out of traps!"

But why did it go in at all?" said Sylvie.

"--and it jamp, and it jamp," Bruno proceeded, ignoring this question,"and at last it got right out again. And it looked at the mark in theShoe. And the Man's name were in it. So it knew it wasn't its own Shoe."

"Had it thought it was?" said Sylvie.

"Why, didn't I tell oo it thought it were a Mouse-trap?" the indignantorator replied. "Please, Mister Sir, will oo make Sylvie attend?"Sylvie was silenced, and was all attention: in fact, she and I weremost of the audience now, as the Frogs kept hopping away, and therewere very few of them left.

"So the Mouse gave the Man his Shoe.

And the Man were welly glad, cause he hadn't got but one Shoe, and hewere hopping to get the other."

Here I ventured on a question. "Do you mean 'hopping,' or 'hoping'?"

"Bofe," said Bruno. "And the Man took the Goat out of the Sack."("We haven't heard of the sack before," I said. "Nor you won't hear ofit again," said Bruno). "And he said to the Goat, 'Oo will walk abouthere till I comes back.' And he went and he tumbled into a deep hole.And the Goat walked round and round. And it walked under the Tree.And it wug its tail. And it looked up in the Tree. And it sang a sadlittle Song. Oo never heard such a sad little Song!"

"Can you sing it, Bruno?" I asked.

"Iss, I can," Bruno readily replied. "And I sa'n't. It would makeSylvie cry--"

"It wouldn't!', Sylvie interrupted in great indignation."And I don't believe the Goat sang it at all!"

"It did, though!" said Bruno. "It singed it right froo.I sawed it singing with its long beard--"

"It couldn't sing with its beard," I said, hoping to puzzle the littlefellow: "a beard isn't a voice."

"Well then, oo couldn't walk with Sylvie!" Bruno cried triumphantly."Sylvie isn't a foot!"

I thought I had better follow Sylvie's example, and be silent for awhile. Bruno was too sharp for us.

"And when it had singed all the Song, it ran away--for to get along tolook for the Man, oo know. And the Crocodile got along after it--for tobite it, oo know. And the Mouse got along after the Crocodile."

"Wasn't the Crocodile running?" Sylvie enquired. She appealed to me."Crocodiles do run, don't they?"

I suggested "crawling" as the proper word.

"He wasn't running," said Bruno, "and he wasn't crawling.He went struggling along like a portmanteau. And he held his chin everso high in the air--"

"What did he do that for?" said Sylvie.

"'cause he hadn't got a toofache!" said Bruno. "Ca'n't oo make outnuffin wizout I 'splain it? Why, if he'd had a toofache, a course he'dhave held his head down--like this--and he'd have put a lot of warmblankets round it!"

"If he'd had any blankets," Sylvie argued.

"Course he had blankets!" retorted her brother. "Doos oo thinkCrocodiles goes walks wizout blankets? And he frowned with hiseyebrows. And the Goat was welly flightened at his eyebrows!"

"I'd never be afraid of eyebrows?" exclaimed Sylvie.

"I should think oo would, though, if they'd got a Crocodile fastened tothem, like these had! And so the Man jamp, and he jamp, and at last hegot right out of the hole."

Sylvie gave another little gasp: this rapid dodging about among thecharacters of the Story had taken away her breath.

"And he runned away for to look for the Goat, oo know. And he heardthe Lion grunting---"

"Lions don't grunt," said Sylvie.

"This one did," said Bruno. "And its mouth were like a large cupboard.And it had plenty of room in its mouth. And the Lion runned after theMan for to eat him, oo know. And the Mouse runned after the Lion."

"But the Mouse was running after the Crocodile," I said: "he couldn'trun after both!"

Bruno sighed over the density of his audience, but explained verypatiently. "He did runned after bofe: 'cause they went the same way!And first he caught the Crocodile, and then he didn't catch the Lion.And when he'd caught the Crocodile, what doos oo think he did--'causehe'd got pincers in his pocket?"

"I ca'n't guess," said Sylvie.

[Image...'He wrenched out that crocodile's toof!']

"Nobody couldn't guess it!" Bruno cried in high glee."Why, he wrenched out that Crocodile's toof!"

"Which tooth?" I ventured to ask.

But Bruno was not to be puzzled. "The toof he were going to bite theGoat with, a course!"

"He couldn't be sure about that," I argued,

"unless he wrenched out all its teeth."

Bruno laughed merrily, and half sang, as he swung himself backwards andforwards, "He did--wrenched--out--all its teef!"

"Why did the Crocodile wait to have them wrenched out?" said Sylvie.

"It had to wait," said Bruno.

I ventured on another question. "But what became of the Man who said'You may wait here till I come back'?"

"He didn't say 'Oo may,'" Bruno explained. "He said, 'Oo will.'Just like Sylvie says to me 'Oo will do oor lessons till twelve o'clock.'Oh, I wiss," he added with a little sigh, "I wiss Sylvie would say 'Oomay do oor lessons'!"

This was a dangerous subject for discussion, Sylvie seemed to think.She returned to the Story. "But what became of the Man?"

"Well, the Lion springed at him. But it came so slow, it were threeweeks in the air--"

"Did the Man wait for it all that time?" I said.

"Course he didn't!" Bruno replied, gliding head-first down the stem ofthe fox-glove, for the Story was evidently close to its end."He sold his house, and he packed up his things, while the Lion werecoming. And he went and he lived in another town. So the Lion atethe wrong man."

This was evidently the Moral: so Sylvie made her final proclamation tothe Frogs. "The Story's finished! And whatever is to be learned fromit," she added, aside to me, "I'm sure I don't know!"

I did not feel quite clear about it myself, so made no suggestion: butthe Frogs seemed quite content, Moral or no Moral, and merely raised ahusky chorus of "Off! Off!" as they hopped away.