Title: Top O' the World - A Once Upon a Time Tale
Author: Swan, Mark E.
Language: English
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[Illustration: Waiting for the Queen. (_Page 131._)]



  TOP O’ THE WORLD
  A Once upon a Time Tale

    By
    Mark E. Swan

    Pictures by Hy. Mayer

    [Illustration]

  New York
  E. P. Dutton & Company
  31 West Twenty-Third Street



  COPYRIGHT
  E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
  1908

  All Rights Reserved

  The Knickerbocker Press, New York



THE TOP O’ THE WORLD was made into a story by permission of Mr. J. M.
Allison from the fanciful extravaganza, THE TOP O’ THE WORLD. Book by
Mark E. Swan, Lyrics by James O’Dea, Music by Anna Caldwell and Manuel
Klein.



  TO MY LITTLE NIECE
  MARION
  WHO _LOVES_ ICE-CREAM



FOREWORD


Oh, little ones, with your pink cheeks and shining eyes, come clamber
on my knee, put your arms about my neck, and listen with all your ears
while I tell you a tale of

  ONCE UPON A TIME.



Illustrations in Color


                                            PAGE

  Waiting for the Queen           _Frontispiece_

  She Could See Castles in the Coals           4

  When One is Sailing a Flying Machine        24

  He Walked Deliberately into the Wall        76

  In the Cake of Ice                         114

  They Laughed and Laughed                   190



Illustrations in Black and White


                                              PAGE

  Aunt Mary Wore Fluffy Dresses                  5

  Growly Voice Eats Snowballs                   11

  Aunt Mary Gets a Sealskin Coat                12

  Maida Crept out of Bed                        16

  The Letter                                    20

  The Birds Came to the Rescue                  28

  The Wolf Swallows a Tablet of Climate         36

  Maida Meets Santa Claus                       44

  Out Popped Jack-in-the-Box                    49

  A Duel with Icicles                           71

  The Walrus Mends the Street                   76

  “How Do You Do?” in Eskimo                   101

  The Explorer Turns on the Tropical Climate   115

  Maida was Carted away in a Box               139

  Fido Flew                                    142

  The Queen Sees Her Face                      145

  The Gates of the Prison Flew Open            161

  Maida                                        194



THE TOP O’ THE WORLD

Chapter I


[Illustration]

The Wishing Post grows right out of the ground at the Top of the World.
Some very wise men with bald heads and long white beards say it isn’t
a Wishing Post at all, and call it the North Pole, but Maida knows
more about it than they do for she has been there and they haven’t.
She really and truly went there in a flying ship, and I can’t begin
to tell you all that she saw and all that she did, but I will try and
remember as much as I can.

If you doubt my story ask Maida herself. She is a dear little girl,
just nine, with curly brown hair and deep blue eyes, and she lives in a
big house with papa and mama and Aunt Mary. If you want to find her go
to Central Park and turn to the left. Maida’s house is the third from
the corner. I don’t just remember the number, and I’ve forgotten the
street, but as she nearly always wears a red dress and you know how she
looks, you can easily find her.

All the trouble began because Maida was such a little girl. She was
just big enough to know how little she was, and she didn’t like being
a little girl at all. She wanted to be grown up. She told me so
herself. She had reasons, too, oh so many. To begin with, there was
ICE-CREAM. Maida loved ICE-CREAM. She could never get
enough. (Perhaps you can never get enough, so you know just how she
felt.) And she could eat and eat and eat, and ICE-CREAM never
hurt her. On this point she differed with papa and mama.

Once she awoke in the night with a most burning feeling right in her
tummy, and had to drink all sorts of horrid medicine before she felt
better. But she could not convince mama and papa it was the brown bread
and baked beans she had eaten two days before. They insisted it was
three plates of ice-cream for supper. Grown-ups are so silly sometimes.

Then there was bedtime. Maida hated to go off to bed as soon as
supper was over and leave everyone else up having a good time. Just
at dusk when the flames in the fireplace began to dance and glitter
and flash--and she could see castles and trees and mountains in the
coals--SOMEBODY with a white cap and apron would snatch her up
and carry her off to a little pink and white room and plump her into a
pink and white bed--when she wasn’t a bit sleepy. Maida often meant to
rebel at such treatment, but somehow when she cuddled up in the pink
and white bed and finished yawning, she overlooked it, and the next
thing--it would be morning.

Still this ruffled her dignity every time it happened--as if she were
sleepy, and didn’t know it, and she realized--just as you do--that it
was because she was a little girl; for grown-ups can stay awake as long
as they like.

[Illustration: “She could see castles ... in the coals”]

Then there were the clothes. Maida wore dresses which reached only
to her knees, and plain little petticoats, while her shoes were so
strong and tough--oh, you’ll never believe what tough shoes they
were unless you wear the same kind. It was almost impossible to kick
holes in them. Then her hair was done in a braid and she had to wear
a pinafore--oh, I can’t tell you how badly Maida felt about her
clothes--especially when she looked at Aunt Mary. Aunt Mary wore
fluffy dresses all hangy and traily, and the sweetest slippers with
great high heels, and her hair was puffed out all over her head--oh,
it was simply beautiful.

[Illustration: Aunt Mary Wore Fluffy Dresses]

And Aunt Mary read lovely books too, all about lords and ladies, while
all of Maida’s books were about, Where is Peru? and, How many is six
times eight? Poor Maida, she had so many troubles--but you understand,
don’t you? So she wished and wished with all her heart that she were a
really grown-up; that she could read those lovely books and have her
hair fuzzed all over her head--that she could wear those traily, hangy
gowns, and stay up nights, and never, _never_, NEVER have to
eat anything but ICE-CREAM.



Chapter II


If you stand with one hand on the Wishing Post, and think hard of what
you would like most in all the world, your wish comes true. Isn’t that
lovely? Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? But it isn’t a fairy tale
at all, it’s really true. Of course those old men with the goggles
and the bald heads don’t believe it. If you ask them they will tell
you the North Pole is just the end of the axis of the earth, whatever
_that_ may mean, and they will insist it isn’t a Wishing Post at all.
Now, when they tell you this, here’s a crusher for them. Ask them how
they know. Ask them if they’ve ever been there to see. Just see what
they say to that. Maida has been there, and she knows all about it. To
commence at the very beginning, this is how she came to make the trip.

One evening, Maida was lying on the hearth kicking her fat legs in the
air and watching the Flame Folk when she heard _somebody_ (you know
which one I mean--the one with the white cap and apron) coming. Now of
course Maida wasn’t the least bit sleepy and she did not want to go to
bed, so she slipped out of the door and down the long hall to the very
end. Then she heard somebody talking--oh, such a fine voice somebody
had, just like the growl of a bear--but a nice soft growl, mind
you--and what the Man with the Growly Voice said must have been ever so
funny, for Aunt Mary laughed and laughed. So Maida peeked. There sat
Aunt Mary in one of the traily, fluffy dresses, and her pretty neck
and arms looked so pink and soft, and her eyes were so bright and her
cheeks were so red, that Maida envied her clear to the tips of her
toes. The Man with the Growly Voice sat oh very close to Aunt Mary, and
he was smiling a little and holding Aunt Mary’s hand (Aunt Mary did not
seem to mind a bit), then Maida heard him say--“Name the day.”

So she went boldly in (because Aunt Mary knew it was some kind of a
riddle or something and didn’t answer), and said to the Man with the
Growly Voice, “How can anybody name days? There are only seven and
they’re already named--Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,
Saturday, and Sunday. Then it begins all over again.” That must have
been the answer to the joke, for Aunt Mary laughed, and the Man with
the Growly Voice laughed, and the first thing Maida knew she was
sitting on his knee, all comfy and happy. Well, the Man with the Growly
Voice was an Arctic Explorer--if you know what that means. If you
don’t, I’ll tell you. It’s a man who wants to go away up North so far
that his next step will start him South; and he had just come back from
the land where it is always Winter.

Somehow Maida found him the nicest grown-up she had ever met, he was
so interested in everything she said, and somehow when she was cuddled
against his big arm, with her nose nestled against his breast it was
so easy to explain that she was tired--oh, so tired of being a little
girl; and tell him all her troubles.

He listened to every word and then he told her about the _Wishing
Post_. He had really seen it many, many times--he had made ever so
many wishes and all but one had come true and he had great hopes of
_that_. He must have told Aunt Mary about the wish for she seemed so
interested.

[Illustration: Growly Voice Eats Snowballs]

Then the Man with the Growly Voice told Maida lots and lots of other
things,--not stories mind you, true tales. He had been so long in the
cold North that he could only sleep in the refrigerator, and he had to
eat icicles and snowballs all the time because he was used to them.
Then he told her of the Eskimos; funny little tame Indians who guard
the North Pole, with great white bears, so no one can steal it, and
when he dined with them they gave him nothing to eat but ice-cream.

[Illustration: Aunt Mary Gets a Sealskin Coat]

Think of it, all the little Eskimo children just eating ice-cream all
day long. Maida decided she would be an Eskimo. Oh, the wonders he told
her. How the seals swim in once a year with their cast-off skins and
give them to the traders in return for charlotte russe and sugar-plums,
and this was something Maida was glad to find out, for she never could
understand how Aunt Mary could get a sealskin coat without hurting the
seal, so it was quite a relief to find the seals were glad to exchange
them for charlotte russe and sugar-plums. But the most wonderful thing
of all was the day the Man with the Growly Voice met Santa Claus,
for he did really meet him face to face. It seems the Eskimos have
Christmas on the Fourth of July, so Santa Claus drove about all day in
his sledge with the six reindeer, giving away presents and taking the
little Eskimo children for a ride. What a happy little girl Maida was
that night, for _somebody_ in a white cap and apron didn’t know where
to find her, and there she was sitting up for once with the grown-ups
and not a bit sleepy, not a _bit_.

She grew so intent on the wonders told her by the Man with the Growly
Voice that now and then she would miss something he said. Then Aunt
Mary would laugh as if Maida were drowsy, which of course she wasn’t.
Of all his tales the Wishing Post was the best. If she could only go
there and wish herself grown up, oh, wouldn’t that be splendid. So she
made him promise to take her on his next voyage. She was so happy when
he said he would, she shut her eyes to think about it, besides the
light was very bright and--well, to this day Maida doesn’t remember
what else the Man with the Growly Voice told her that night.



Chapter III


And then she found herself--in bed--wasn’t that a shame. She had been
so happy sitting on the knee of the Man with the Growly Voice, so
interested in his stories, then that _somebody_ (with the white cap
and apron) had carried her off to bed. She couldn’t remember a thing
about it, but of course that is the way it must have happened. Oh,
if she could only find the Wishing Post, things like this would not
happen, she’d see to that. What a wonderful thing it must be, this
Wishing Post, and how she would love to see it--and--what a strange
light was coming in the window. It was not morning, so it could not
be sunlight, besides, sunlight is so bright. And it wasn’t a bit like
moonlight, either. She grew very much interested, and sat up in
bed to see. She was not at all afraid, for Maida was always a brave
little girl, besides--comforting thought, if one _did_ call out, why,
somebody (with a white cap and apron) was just in the next room. What
a strange light--all pale and green and shimmering. My, isn’t that a
long word! but it means the kind of light you see in dreams, and it
seemed to come from under the window. Maida watched it as long as she
could, but finally she crept out of bed, went to the window, and what
do you think she saw outside--a really and truly flying machine. It
was a long bag of cloth like a great big cigar, and underneath it was
the dearest little wicker house something like a boat. She could see
strange engines through the windows, and there were wings at the sides,
and at the back a rudder. There was a steering wheel behind the wicker
house, and beside it stood the Man with the Growly Voice. He looked up,
saw her, smiled, and waved his hand.

[Illustration: Maida Crept Out of Bed]

“I’ve come to take you to the Wishing Post,” he said. Maida started to
climb out of the window, but she thought better of it when the Man with
the Growly Voice spoke again. “Don’t you think,” he said, “that you had
better dress before we start? It will be rather chilly at the North
Pole, with nothing on but a pink and white nightie.” How her fingers
flew! She found all her clothes nicely piled on a chair beside her
bed, and she dressed quicker than she ever dressed before, or since.
Luckily her pretty white fur coat Aunt Mary had given her was hanging
in the closet, and the cap beside it. She put them on, and as the coat
reached to her feet she felt very warm and comfy. You will never know
how quietly she opened the door. You will never know how “creepy” she
stole down the stair. But just as she opened the big front door she
happened to think of mama and papa and Aunt Mary. She thought they
might be worried, so she sat down to write them a note. Maida could
write very well for such a little girl, although her T’s and her F’s
would persist in looking alike, or worse still, when she meant to make
a W an M would hop into its place. Well, this note was the best thing
she had ever written. She had no idea she could write so rapidly. All
the letters made themselves properly and somehow got into the right
place. Altogether, it was a splendid letter. As nearly as I remember,
it ran something like this:

  “Dear Mama, and Papa, and Aunt Mary:

  “I was afraid you might be worried when you found me gone, and I
  was afraid to tell you because you might not let me go. I’ll be
  back in a day or two. I’ve only gone with a gentleman to find the
  North Pole and wish to be grown up. With dearest love,
                                                   “MAIDA.”

[Illustration: Dear Mama Papa and Aunt Mary:]

She knew that when they got her note they wouldn’t be worried at all.
Then she went out and closed the big front door behind her. The Man
with the Growly Voice was waiting and he lifted her into the little
wicker house. “This is your room,” he said, showing her into a little
cabin, and it was just lovely; all cuddly and comfy and bright. The
little brass bed shone and shone; the pretty mirror reflected her happy
face. The lights danced and flickered--ah, in every way it was just
exactly like what a room in a flying ship should be.

Then she noticed they were going up--they passed the roof, then the
chimney, then the church steeple next door. The house grew smaller
and smaller until she couldn’t tell it from the houses beside it.
They floated over the Park and Maida could see the lights of the city
underneath her--and--then over the river with the boats going out and
coming in.

And she didn’t feel at all strange or in the least frightened. It
all seemed perfectly natural and usual. A dreadful doubt assailed
her. Suppose she were not awake. Suppose she was asleep and dreaming.
“Excuse me,” she said timidly to the Man with the Growly Voice, “but
will you please tell me your name?” “My name,” he growled in reply,
“is Morse.” “Well then Mr. Morse,” she said, “tell me, please, honest
to goodness cross your heart--am I awake?” And the Man with the Growly
Voice crossed his heart and said, “Yes.” So that was settled, for of
course he wouldn’t tell a story and say she was awake if she were
asleep. Oh, what a happy little Maida, drifting--drifting far above
the clouds, no more lessons or oatmeal porridge, or short frocks.
Never again. Never would she have to go to bed at twilight. Traily,
fluffy dresses and sit up nights and ice-cream--oh, lots and lots of
ice-cream, for she was going to the Wishing Post and she would never
come back till she had grown up.



Chapter IV


They flew and flew and flew. Maida could look out of her window and see
the lights in houses far beneath. By and by the sky turned gray, little
streaks of silver began to appear and the stars overhead grew pale.
The streaks of silver turned to pink, to crimson, and then a huge red
ball of fire seemed to shoot up out of the sea and hang in the East.
“What is it?” asked Maida. She was quite surprised when the Man with
the Growly Voice told her it was the sun. She had never seen the sun
look like that--for never before had she been awake at sunrise. Over
great lakes they sailed, and over forests of pines and ranges of high
mountains, but there were no more cities and towns, only tents with
Indians standing about them. And all the time the Man with the Growly
Voice stood beside the wheel, steering the airship and looking straight
ahead; you know how careful papa has to be when he takes you out in
his auto car? Well--it’s just like that when one is sailing a flying
machine, only it’s harder because an auto can only turn to the right
or left, and if anything happens to the sparking plug or the jibboom,
why papa can take the monkey-wrench and the hammer and the saw and the
screw-driver and crawl under the auto to fix it. Then when he finds
he’s only made it worse he can get a horse to haul you home again.

[Illustration: “When one is sailing a flying machine”]

But a flying machine can turn to the right and to the left. Besides
that, it can go up or down or sideways or turn over and over, and my
goodness, when anything happens to the sparking plug or the jibboom
of a flying machine you don’t have time to crawl under and fix it, for
it falls and falls--and--oh, it’s “shuddery” to think of such a thing.

Well--Maida knew the Man with the Growly Voice must be tired, and
besides it was breakfast time, so she asked him to let her sit by the
wheel and steer the flying machine a while:--then he could rest and get
breakfast, and of course he _did_. She was a very proud little girl as
she sat there guiding the airship through the air, and before long she
began to play a bit.

It was great sport to make a long dip downward and _just_ miss the top
of a mountain. It was quite a joke to glide along behind an eagle and
take him by surprise and watch him flap his wings madly to get out of
the way, as she hooted the horn, “hoot, hoot.” Did I tell you that all
flying ships have horns, just like automobiles? Well they do, to warn
the birds and frighten the shooting stars away. Oh, she was having a
lovely time.

Then the Man with the Growly Voice appeared in the door with a look of
dismay on his face. “I was in such a hurry to get away,” he said, “that
I forgot to bring a single thing to eat. Isn’t that just like an Arctic
Explorer? You see we’re so anxious to explore we forget all about such
things as food and clothes and fuel.”

“Maybe we could borrow some ice-cream from one of the little Eskimo
children,” faltered Maida timidly and she became so intent on thinking
about the breakfast she couldn’t have, that before she knew what she
was doing she ran slap-bang into a comet. Of course the comet had no
business there, and it was just as much surprised as Maida for it
shouted and shouted, but before they could stop they were right in the
midst of the tail. The Man with the Growly Voice sprang to the bow.
“Splice the bowsprit,” he roared. “Shiver the mainsail”--“luff-luff.”
“Please sir, I don’t know how to luff-luff,” quavered Maida. Alas, it
was no use. The comet switched its tail; because it _does_ tickle a
comet when a flying ship gets tangled up in its tail--and one of the
wings fell off the side of the ship. Then they began to go down, down,
down.

[Illustration: The Birds Came to the Rescue]

Did you ever fall out of bed in the night, when you were half asleep?
Well it felt just like that, only a million times worse. Down, down,
down. “Oh, haven’t you got a life-preserver or something,” sobbed
Maida. But the Man with the Growly Voice didn’t answer, he only stood
and said things like--well, like Uncle George says when he tries to
drive a nail and hits his thumb. Which was very naughty of him. Then
just when Maida had given up in despair and was so frightened her
heart had stopped beating--just when she was saying “_Now_--for an
awful bump,” a wonderful thing happened. Two of the very birds she had
been teasing flew up, one seized the Man with the Growly Voice by the
collar and the other seized Maida, then they flew gently with them down
to the ground--and there wasn’t any bump at all. Then they all sat and
looked at each other.



Chapter V


“Do you know,” said Maida, “I believe the birds are laughing at us?”

Well, it really looked as though they were. Both of them sat staring
first at Maida, then at the Explorer; now and then flapping their wings
and making a sort of noise like--just like--did you ever slip on the
ice and sit down hard when you weren’t expecting to do anything of the
sort, and _then_ did you hear someone across the street or in the next
house giggle about it? Well, perhaps Maida only imagined it, but that
is exactly the kind of noise those two birds were making. After a while
they rose in the air, slowly flapping their big wings--flew about the
wreck of the airship a few times, just to show how much better real
wings are than made wings, then they disappeared in the distance.
Maida was getting cold.

“As long as you’re an Explorer,” she said, “don’t you think you had
better explore something? Where are we?”

“Why, here,” said the Man with the Growly Voice, “just here. If we
weren’t here, you know, we’d be somewhere else.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Maida doubtfully, “and do you mind telling me
where “_here_” is? Because I’ve an idea it isn’t anywhere.”

“I suppose you’ve studied geography,” said the Man with the Growly
Voice. “Oh, no,” Maida pouted, “I hate it.” “Too bad,” he answered. “If
you had studied geography, you’d know exactly where we are.” “Haven’t
you studied it?” asked Maida. “Let’s change the subject,” was his
reply. Maida began to shiver.

The Explorer took from his pocket a small tablet wrapped in tissue
paper, which looked very much like a piece of candy. He took the paper
off and threw the tablet on the ground, just as you pop torpedoes on
the Fourth of July. In an instant all the ice and snow began to melt.
Grass began to grow. Maida could feel it under her feet--pushing to
come up, it was growing so fast. Some little flowers suddenly peeped
from the turf. There was no fire, no smoke, but everything was warm and
sweet, just like a Spring day.

“My goodness! What did you do?” said Maida, as she stopped shivering.
“What was that?” she continued. “It would be lovely when the janitor
doesn’t turn on the steam.”

“That,” said the Explorer, “is a tablet of condensed climate. I
gathered it in Mexico. Down there they have very warm weather, very
warm indeed, so I simply condensed the heat into these little tablets;
and that reminds me, I’ve a tin can full of it on the airship. I’d
better get it as I think we’ll need it. The tablets are not very
strong. One of them will only heat up a city for a year or so, but I’ve
enough in the can to turn Greenland into Africa.” So he strapped the
can of condensed climate on his back.

At this moment they saw someone coming toward them through the high
grass. As the stranger drew near Maida noticed that he was a very
handsome young man with wonderful broad shoulders and long curly hair.
He did not appear to see them but walked steadily on with his eyes
fastened on the horizon, and would have passed them but Maida stopped
him and asked him who he was and where he was going.

“I am a disconsolate lover,” he replied, “and I seek one in the far
North.”

“Tell me all about it,” said Maida eagerly, for she loved romance.

“You’ll laugh at me, I know,” he answered, “but I must tell someone,
for my heart is full of it. One night I seemed to float away to a
beautiful land all pure and white and in this strange place was a lady,
tall and slender with cheeks like snow-drops and eyes like stars. Ah,
she was so fair and white. She beckoned and I drew near. She smiled and
I awoke, but I can not forget. Always in my dreams I see her smiling,
beckoning. I have sought her through the North. I will never rest until
I find her.”

“Do you think,” inquired Maida anxiously, “that you will find her
soon?” “Oh yes,” he replied, “I am sure of it. I must find her soon,”
and he strode away with his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“I’ve a splendid idea,” said Maida, “if he’s going to find the lady
soon, let us follow him. Perhaps she’ll be able to tell us where we can
get breakfast.”

“Now that _is_ really a splendid idea,” said the Man with the Growly
Voice, “and we will.” So they did. But before long they began to find
it cold again (the tablet of climate was such a little one). They began
to find ice and snow in places. Bye and bye Maida heard something
behind her and turned around, and there was a wolf. Oh, such an awful
creature. What do you think Maida did? What would _you_ do? Scream?
Well, that’s what she did.

“He’ll eat us!” she wailed. “Oh, haven’t you a gun or something to
shoot him?”

[Illustration: The Wolf Swallows a Tablet of Climate]

The Man with the Growly Voice took another tablet of climate from his
pocket and just as the wolf rushed at them with wide open jaws, he
tossed the tablet in its mouth. My, what a surprise for that wolf! He
thought he was going to have a nice little girl for breakfast, and
presto! he had swallowed three or four days of awfully hot weather. He
rolled and yelped and jumped about--well, if you want to know just
exactly how he behaved, borrow a tablet of climate from the Explorer;
go up there where Maida was, and give it to the first wolf that comes
along. Then you’ll see.

Finally the wolf ran away as hard as he could. But the climate he had
swallowed made everything warm as it passed. So they all three followed
it along a nice grassy lane bordered with flowers, and warm as a Spring
day.



Chapter VI


Maida began to think the disconsolate lover was mistaken about finding
the “Lady” soon. There seemed to be no sign of her. And they walked
and walked and walked. At last, in the distance, they saw a house.
Not a great big fine house such as Maida lived in at home, but a low
hut built of heavy logs with a slanting roof and a high chimney with
lots of smoke coming out of it. The wolf passed by the house without
stopping for it was in a hurry to go somewhere and get something cool
to drink, but the disconsolate lover knocked loudly on the door.

“I wonder if the lady lives here,” said Maida. The disconsolate lover
knocked again, and again, and finally the door swung open and they all
walked in. They were in a toy shop. The house looked--oh, ever so much
larger now that they were in, than it did from the outside. There were
long rooms filled with toys and dollies. There were benches and shelves
where toys were being made by funny little men. The walls and rafters
were hung with all sorts of jumping-jacks and--oh, everything children
like.

The lad who opened the door stood looking at them. He was dressed
all in leather and his hair hung over his neck. Maida was sure she
had never seen such a nice friendly looking boy. “My name is Billy,”
he said. “Whose little boy are you?” “If you please,” replied Maida,
“I’m not a boy--I’m a little girl,” and she threw open her long fur
cloak so he could see what a pretty dress she wore. At once all the
little workmen stopped work and crowded about her, for strange as
it may seem they had hardly ever seen a little girl. Maida was quite
frightened and looked about for the Man with the Growly Voice--or the
Disconsolate Lover, but as neither of them were in sight she ran to
Billy for protection and cuddled in his arms. “What’s the matter with
them?” she faltered. Billy laughed. “They’re curious to see you,” he
replied, “because you’re a little girl.” “Little girls must be scarce
up here,” observed Maida (still nestling close to Billy). Billy laughed
again. “Scarce,” he said, “why I should say they _are_!” So he sent
the workmen back to their benches and gave Maida all the ice-cream she
could eat for breakfast. It was good ice-cream too, still--just for
once she wouldn’t have minded if she could have had a cup of coffee and
a slice of bacon. After breakfast Billy showed her all over the shop,
and she was allowed to see the workmen making toys. When they returned
to the great room who should they meet but a huge Eskimo and his pretty
little daughter, both dressed entirely in furs.

The Eskimo was very grand. “I am Kankakee,” he said, and waving his
hand toward his daughter added, “this is Kokomo, my daughter,” upon
which Kokomo came to Maida and made a lovely curtsey saying something
that sounded like--well I can hardly tell you just what it was like.
Did you ever hear an angry old hen calling her chickens? Well it was
something like that, and something like the rattle on the trolley car
when the man lets off the brake--for poor little Kokomo could not speak
English--only Eskimo.

“So you’re an Eskimo,” said Maida, “can you tell me about the Wishing
Post?”

The big Eskimo drew himself up proudly. “I can tell you all about it,”
he replied, “for I am a great man, and very wise, also I know many
things. The Wishing Post grows out of the earth at the Top of the World
and if one makes a wish upon it the wish will come true.”

Maida was overjoyed. “I am going to make a wish just as soon as I find
it,” she told him. “You find it!” he said scornfully, “why it is death
for mortal to try to cross the Forbidden Land, to reach the city of
Illusia. Even _I_ have never crossed those icy wastes, and should you
find the Post you would be put to death by the Queen of the North,
Aurora Borealis, or her Prime Minister, Jack Frost. Look!” and he
pointed out of the window, “you can see the lights shining from her
crown--when she is pleased the light is white; when she is jealous it
is green. When she is sad the light is blue, and when she is angry the
light is red.” At this moment a huge stream of red light waved about
and cast a red glow over all the room.

“My goodness!” said Maida, “she must be in a dreadful temper to-day!”
But the Eskimo and his daughter only drew their fur robes about them
and walked away. Maida would have followed them to find out some more
but she ran plump into the roundest, jolliest, old man you ever saw.
He wore a long green coat and big leather boots, and his long hair and
beard were snow-white. Oh, he was so fat and so jolly! His face was red
and chubby and he had the nicest smile; he reminded her of some one but
she couldn’t think just who it was. He was very much surprised to see
Maida. “Well, well!” he shouted, “a little girl. Come sit on my knee,
my dear, and tell me all about it.”

[Illustration: Maida Meets Santa Claus]

So Maida sat on his knee and told him all about it. “I’m going to the
Wishing Post,” she said, “and wish to be grown up.”

“Grown up?” replied the chubby old man. “Why childhood is the happiest
time of life.”

“That’s what the grown-ups tell us,” Maida answered, “but I guess
they’ve forgotten all about it. I don’t suppose you were ever spanked
and put to bed without your supper because you wouldn’t learn your
lessons.”

The chubby old man became very earnest and a little sad. “If you grow
up quickly,” he said, “you won’t care for dollies and candy any more.
You can’t sit like this on my knee, and you’ll always be puzzling your
pretty little head because you’ve nothing to wear.”

Maida looked at him rather puzzled. “Your face looks so--so familiar to
me,” she said, “I’ve seen you somewhere but I can’t remember where it
was.”

Billy looked at Maida and smiled. “Why in your picture books,” he
laughed. “Don’t you know who this is? Why Santa Claus, of course.” And
it was.



Chapter VII


How would you like to meet Santa Claus face to face? How would you like
him to hold you on his knee and tell you all about everything? How
would you like him to show you all about, and let you see the wonderful
sleigh and pet the reindeers? Well then, you can just imagine the fun
Maida had.

“Do you know,” she said to him shyly, “I am really very glad I met you.
You see, Willie Porter, he’s ten, and he knows much more than I do, or
thinks he does,--well, he told me there wasn’t any Santa Claus. He hung
up his stocking last Christmas, then he stayed awake all night to see
if Santa Claus filled it. His papa and mama came into his room ever so
many times in the night, but you never came near.”

“Ah! I can explain that,” laughed Santa. “Willie Porter’s papa used to
have a fine big open chimney and a lovely fireplace. Then I used to
go there every Christmas. But now they’ve shut up the fireplace, so I
can’t get down the chimney, and they’ve put in steam heat. Does Willie
Porter think I can bring my gifts and crawl through a radiator?” And
Santa Claus laughed till he shook like a jelly.

“Ah, I see,” said Maida. “Well, as I have seen all the toys and had a
most splendid time I s’pose I must be going, for I am in a hurry to get
to the Wishing Post and grow up.” So she prepared to resume her journey
but Santa Claus wouldn’t hear of it. “You haven’t seen all the toys,”
he shouted. “The two best ones were just finished to-day. Come along
with me and we’ll take a look at them.”

So she went with him into a room she hadn’t seen before, but all she
could see was two boxes. One was very tall and stood on end, the other
was square, with green and yellow stripes on it.

[Illustration: Out Popped Jack-in-the-Box]

Maida began to peer about the square box with green and yellow stripes
on it, when, all of a sudden, she touched a little button. The lid of
the box flew open, and out popped the biggest Jack-in-the-Box she had
ever seen. He must have been made of springs inside, for he leaned this
way and that, and joggled up and down, till Maida thought he’d break
in two. He was dressed in a long coat or shirt with pleats in it, just
like the folding part of papa’s camera, and he looked very funny. “I
feel just like a concertina,” he remarked.

Maida ran to the other box, opened it, and out stepped a Candy Kid. He
was much taller than Maida, his arms and legs were made of stick candy,
his body was a large chocolate drop, and his head was a marshmallow.
Before Maida realized what she was doing she picked off one of his
fingers and ate it. The Candy Kid didn’t mind, but Santa Claus didn’t
like it at all. He told her not to do anything of the sort again, and
got some candy to make the Candy Kid another finger.

“Oh, you beautiful little dolly,” sighed Jack-in-the-Box looking at
Maida.

“She isn’t a dolly,” said the Candy Kid. “I believe Santa Claus made
her out of a charlotte russe,” for of course the Candy Kid thought
Santa Claus made everything out of some kind of sweetmeats.

But Jack-in-the-Box was too full of his thoughts to let the Candy Kid
stop him. He bobbed his poor little head, shook about in the box and
said: “Oh, I like you very much. I would kneel and tell you all about
it, only I have no knees. I would clasp you in my arms, only I have no
arms.”

“I like you too,” said Maida shyly, and she nestled up against him.
“You are very quaint. Oh, how your poor heart is beating.”

“That isn’t my heart,” replied Jack-in-the-Box, “that’s my mainspring.”
Suddenly a loud rattle came from somewhere near his chin. “There,” he
sighed, “a cog slipped.”

The Candy Kid had been listening, and he didn’t seem to like Maida
to notice Jack-in-the-Box so much, so he politely gave her his arm
and walked away with her. Jack-in-the-Box lost his temper at this
and threatened the Candy Kid with all sorts of dreadful things, when
suddenly there was a rattle; a jerk; and Jack-in-the-Box leaned over
limp and flat. “Oh, is he dead?” sobbed Maida. “No, only run down,”
chuckled Santa Claus who then wound him up. “He always runs down,” said
Santa, “just when he shouldn’t.”

“Oh, I like him so much,” laughed Maida, “but I should think you’d find
it awfully hard work to make them.” “Not a bit,” answered Santa Claus,
“I think of something to delight children, and presto--it is made.”

Jack-in-the-Box set up a howling, till they had to stop their ears.
“Think me some arms and legs,” he roared; “think me some arms and legs.”

“I have,” answered Santa Claus; and sure enough, there they were, two
funny little arms swinging stiffly about, and as he hopped out of the
box Maida saw he had two stiff little legs. Jack-in-the-Box tried to
walk but it was very hard for him.

“Don’t you see,” he inquired, “that I am very starchy. Think me some
ball bearings in the joints.” So Santa Claus did, and then he was all
right. Oh, they had a fine time, while Santa Claus left them all alone
to go and pack an order of toys for some little children in Bombay. But
just when the fun was at its height Maida heard a tremendous roar. She
turned around to see what made such a noise, and her hair stood on end
with fright, for there stood a great big white Polar Bear. The Candy
Kid climbed into his box. Maida flew wildly about the room and finally
shut herself in a cupboard, but poor Jack--just as he was about to make
his escape, he ran down. The bear slowly drew near Jack-in-the-Box and
Maida’s heart flew up in her mouth for she was afraid it would eat
him. But it didn’t. It wound him up. Then Jack-in-the-Box said “thank
you,” and the Bear bowed politely. The Candy Kid saw that the Bear
wasn’t hungry, so he came out of his box and tickled the Bear behind
the left ear, and the Bear liked it so well he began to hop about and
dance. The Candy Kid began to dance, then Jack-in-the-Box began to
dance, and they laughed and danced and jumped about till they reached
the door, and danced out of it; and the last Maida saw of the Candy
Kid and Jack-in-the-Box and the friendly Bear, they were dancing away,
together.



Chapter VIII


Well, it does make one feel bad to have playmates run away like that,
and Maida was heartbroken. She could see the three capering over the
ice and snow far, far away, having, oh such a good time, and the Bear
seemed so friendly and polite she had lost all fear of him. Just then
she heard a tinkling of bells and looked outside the window to see what
caused it. There was a sledge drawn by some beautiful Eskimo dogs,
moving along and going in the direction taken by the friends. She gave
no thought to Santa Claus, or the Disconsolate Lover, or the Man with
the Growly Voice, or even Billy, but rushed out of the door and leaped
on the sledge which was slowly moving away. “Hurry,” she gasped,
“hurry, or they’ll get away.”

To her joy she found the little Eskimo girl, Kokomo, was the only
passenger, and Kankakee, her father, was driving the dogs. Kokomo
turned and smiled at her, saying something that sounded very much
like “muk-a-luk-a-chuk-a-grwokzbski.” (That last word is a terrible
thing, isn’t it? It’s very hard to spell, and I haven’t an idea how it
sounds;--it must be a very hard word, but Kokomo said it, so I have to
put it in.)

Faster and faster they flew till they were going like the wind. Behind
them were some more people, on sledges drawn by dogs, but Maida
didn’t care who they were or where they were going. All she thought
of was finding the Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid. “Suppose,” she
moaned to Kokomo, “suppose he should get lost and should run down.”
“Blik-a-tik-a-zik-a-rikow-bik ski,” said Kokomo sadly. (Isn’t it
awful, the way those Eskimos talk? And I don’t see how they ever learn
to spell.)

It seemed an age to Maida, and it must have been several hours before
she saw her two friends. They were standing in the midst of a field
of ice, and poor Jack-in-the-Box hung limp and dejected on a block of
ice, while the Candy Kid seemed to be trying to help him. She could see
nothing of the Bear. “Stop, stop!” she called to Kankakee; but either
he did not hear or he was in too great a hurry, for he only snapped
his long dog whip and howled “Mush!” to the dogs. When an Eskimo says
“Mush” to his dogs, he means what you mean when you say, “Get up!” to
pony. Well, Maida couldn’t bear to see her friends left alone, so she
rolled off the sledge into a soft snow-bank, and it didn’t hurt her a
bit. Then while she was picking herself up and digging the snow out
of her eyes, all the sledges rushed by her without stopping. She ran
quickly to the Candy Kid. “Oh, dear, dear,” she sobbed, “what is the
matter with him?” “He’s run down,” replied the Candy Kid. “Well, why
don’t you wind him up?” retorted Maida angrily, stamping her foot.
“Can’t do it,” said the Candy Kid, “we’ve lost the key.” Then overcome
by his feelings the Candy Kid sat down and began to cry at the top
of his voice. Which was perfectly natural. A huge white mound, which
Maida had mistaken for a snow-bank, reared up beside the Candy Kid,
and Maida stepped back in surprise. It was the Bear. Maida was very
uneasy. He hadn’t eaten the Candy Kid. Well, perhaps he didn’t care
for sweets, and of course he couldn’t eat an overgrown alarm-clock
like Jack-in-the-Box, but she had heard that bears like little girls
as well as little girls like chocolate creams, and she felt a strong
desire to run. But the Bear didn’t attack her. No indeed, he wasn’t
that kind of a Bear. He laid his head on the shoulder of the Candy Kid
and lifted up his voice and wept, which was very nice of him. Maida
was so overcome by his grief she ran to him and wiped his eyes with
her handkerchief. Then they all had a good cry together. At last the
Bear put his arm about Maida (I call it his arm, though it was really
his foreleg), and patted her on the shoulder. So she felt better, and
stopped crying.

“By the way,” said Maida to the Candy Kid, “I’ve never been properly
introduced to the Bear. Do you mind making us acquainted?”

So the Candy Kid presented the Bear, who made a lovely bow,--really,
for a Polar Bear who had never been in any sort of society, he was
very, very polite.

And then Maida found the key. Wasn’t that lovely? Ah, I tell you, it
didn’t take her long to wind up Jack-in-the-Box, and how the four of
them did laugh and cry and dance about, all through pure happiness.

“This habit of mine is very distressing,” observed Jack-in-the-Box to
Maida. “Did you ever start to talk or go somewhere and all of a sudden
feel your mainspring give out and your wheels stop turning?”

“No, I never did,” replied Maida, “but it must be--dreadful.”

“And now, what are we going to do?” said the Candy Kid.

“I’m afraid I’ll never find the Wishing Post,” sighed Maida.

Then the Bear began to talk. If you think Eskimo talk is hard to
understand, you should have heard the Bear. It sounded like the roaring
of thunder and the rattle of chains, but little by little they
understood him, for he waved his paws, and pointed to the North, and
wagged his head; so finally they understood he would take them to the
Wishing Post. Maida climbed on his back, which pleased him mightily.
The other two followed them, and they set out again, the merriest
little party you ever saw, on their way to the Top of the World.



Chapter IX


“Isn’t it ever going to be night?” inquired Maida fretfully, as they
paused for a rest on top of a huge hill of snow.

“You forget,” replied the Candy Kid, “that up here the days are six
months long. Why, it’s only half-past June.” So they went on again.

“Oh, I’m so cold and tired,” sighed Maida, rubbing her hands on the
Bear’s furry coat to warm them. Jack-in-the-Box looked at her in
surprise. “Cold?” he asked curiously. “What is cold?” “Oh, _you_
wouldn’t know,” replied Maida, and of course he wouldn’t for he was
only a clock-work man. But her answer did not seem to satisfy him,
for he scratched his head in a puzzled manner. “Tired, tired,” he
repeated, “the word sounds familiar, but what does it mean?” Maida
sighed again; it was so difficult to make Jack understand. “Why it
means,” she explained, “you feel _so_ weary; you can hardly lift your
arms, and your legs ache, and you don’t want to move.” “Oh, I know
now,” interrupted Jack in great glee. “I often get that way. You’re
run down. Where’s your key?--I’ll wind you up.” And she could hardly
convince him that there wasn’t a key and that she didn’t need winding
up.

By and by they came to a log hut. Smoke was coming from the chimney,
a bright light shone through the window, and a most delicious
smell filled the air; so they decided to take a nice long rest.
Jack-in-the-Box knocked at the door. It swung open and a huge Man
with a Bushy Beard stepped across the threshold. He looked like
a very rough man and Maida felt a little afraid of him, but he
paid no attention to her; he only stood stock still and stared at
Jack-in-the-Box. Then he saw the Candy Kid and his eyes nearly popped
out of his head. Maida saw he was afraid of Jack and the Candy
Kid,--(for really they were unusual, you know, and enough to frighten
a man, no matter how rough he was, and how bushy his beard)--so she
decided to reassure him. “Fido,” she whispered,--(they all called the
Bear “Fido” because he was so “cute”)--“Fido, you ask him to let us
in.” So the Bear advanced bowing politely and in his own language spoke
as nicely as he could. That is, he _started_ to speak. For no sooner
did the Man with the Bushy Beard see Fido than he jumped back into the
hut. Still bowing politely Fido followed him.

Then for a little while there was a great commotion in the hut. “Oh,
they’ll hurt Fido,” screamed Maida in dismay, but before she could go
to his aid, the door swung open again and the Man with the Bushy Beard
popped out, followed by some more Men with Bushy Beards, and they all
ran away as fast as they could.

“There must be something in there that frightened them,” whispered
Jack, cowering close to the Candy Kid. “I wonder what it could have
been,” was the Candy Kid’s reply. But when they finally plucked up
courage and stole into the hut, there was nothing at all inside to
alarm anybody--and dear gentle Fido sat calmly beside the fire warming
his feet. They looked all through the hut, in every nook and cranny,
but whatever had frightened the Men with the Bushy Beards was gone.

After awhile the Bear curled up in a corner and went to sleep (and
really for such a nice Bear he snored dreadfully), while Maida began
to explore the hut to see if she could find something for supper.
Strange to say she felt a longing for a bowl of wheat and cream such
as they always made her eat at home for breakfast. Her search was
interrupted by the sound of loud and angry voices, and when she ran to
the other end of the hut she was surprised to find the Candy Kid and
Jack-in-the-Box having a most awful quarrel--and what was worse, it
was a quarrel over some lady they both knew though she couldn’t tell
who it was. Jack-in-the-Box was so angry all his machinery clicked and
rattled, and all the sugar had been left out of the Candy Kid’s temper,
for it was anything but sweet.

“You overgrown alarm clock,” he sneered at Jack, “I tell you she liked
me best.”

“Oh, run down, run down,” snapped Jack angrily, “how could she prefer
you? Why, you’re only a lump of glucose and some dye.” And they went
on at a terrible rate saying all sorts of horrid things to each other,
but Maida couldn’t find out who they were quarrelling about, and it
made her feel just a teenty, weenty bit jealous to find there was some
one besides herself they liked, and liked well enough to quarrel over.
Finally the Candy Kid appealed to Maida for aid.

“Where you come from,” he asked, “when two people both like somebody
else what are they?”

“Foolish,” was Maida’s prompt reply.

“No, no,” persisted the Candy Kid, “what do you call them?”

Maida puzzled a moment and let her mind run over some of the romantic
stories she had read. “I know,” she said, “they are called rivals.”

“Then I’m a rival,” said the Candy Kid stoutly.

“So am I,” cried Jack. “Tell me--what do rivals do?”

Maida puzzled over this a moment. “Why, they take pistols or swords and
fight a duel,” she said presently.

“Good,” replied the Candy Kid, “we’ll fight a duel, although I haven’t
the faintest idea what a duel is, or how to fight it.” Then turning to
Jack-in-the-Box he added, “have you a sword in your pocket?”

“Oh, no,” Jack answered quickly.

“Why are you so positive?” inquired the Candy Kid sulkily.

“Because,” Jack retorted, “I don’t know what a sword is, and I haven’t
any pocket.”

“Pooh, that’s no reason,” complained the Candy Kid, and they were
about to resume their quarrel when they were interrupted by Fido, who
had been aroused by their noise and sat solemnly blinking his eyes.
First he pointed to a picture on the wall. It was a picture of two
men fighting with long swords, and Fido pointed to the picture and
then to them, and then took the poker from the hearth and showed them
just how a duel with swords must be fought. And I may say here it’s
no use asking me how Fido knew all about duels--for I haven’t the
faintest idea--all I can say is, he was a _very clever Bear_. They
clearly understood by this time what they must do. But alas, they
had no swords. At last Jack had a happy thought. He dashed out the
door and returned with two long pointed icicles, nearly as hard as
steel, and gave one to the Candy Kid. Maida was very much frightened
and wanted to stop them, but they paid no heed to her tears. The Bear
planted her in a chair by the fire and shook his paw at her, so she
felt afraid to move. The Bear stood between Jack and the Candy Kid and
said, “ovowoogkgk.” (That’s as near as I can come to spelling it as
I haven’t quite enough letters to make it sound just right), and just
as soon as he said it Jack-in-the-Box stuck his icicle right through
the Candy Kid’s breast. Maida screamed with horror, but the Candy Kid
laughed and said, “you tickle.” Then he ran his icicle into Jack’s
breast, and Jack ran down. It took all three of them five minutes to
get him properly wound again. Once more the rivals faced each other and
the Bear gave the signal. But they both took bad aim, for instead of
piercing each other, both of them stuck the Bear. That was the end of
the duel. Fido was so vexed he broke both icicles. Then he took Jack
and the Candy Kid over his knee and gave them a good spanking. After
that it took them an hour to plug up the cavity in the Candy Kid’s
chest with sugar, and to get the rust out of Jack’s cogs where the
icicles had melted. And although poor Maida was very tired and sleepy
she didn’t feel like going to bed, but sat by the fire revolving a
question in her mind.

[Illustration: A Duel with Icicles]

“I wonder,” she said to herself, “who it is they like enough to fight a
duel over.”



Chapter X


On the edge of the Frozen Zone stands the City of Arcturia. You needn’t
look for it in your geography, you won’t find it there; in fact, one
of the men who wrote the “Geography” positively declared there isn’t
any such place. So it isn’t on the map. But as Maida spent several days
there she ought to know more about it than some old bookworm who stayed
at home and scribbled while she was on her travels.

Did you ever go to bed at night when it was raining and raining and
raining, then awaken in the morning to find the rain had frozen on the
grass, and on the twigs--till all the trees looked as if they had been
dipped in melted silver and then set out to dry? Well, that’s the
way Arcturia looks. Without doubt it is one of the most wonderful and
beautiful cities in the world--all ice--nothing but ice.

Maida rode on Fido’s back across the snow desert with the Candy Kid on
one side and Jack-in-the-Box on the other, for they were rivals you
know and quarrelled dreadfully whenever they got near each other. As
they drew near the city their eyes were dazzled by the brightness--even
Fido blinked, but they pressed on till they came to a sort of wall
which brought them to a halt. It was a most peculiar wall--it was so
high the Bear could not see over it, even though he reared up on his
hind legs, when he was very tall indeed. It ran East as far as they
could see and just as far to the West, and it was hard and smooth, like
polished iron. The four sat down in a row and stared first at each
other and then at the wall.

“What do you suppose it is?” asked Maida, “and how are we going to get
over it?”

Suddenly the Candy Kid remembered. “I know, I know,” he laughed, “I
remember now. I’ve heard Santa Claus talk about this. It’s the Arctic
Circle.”

“That’s right,” chuckled Jack-in-the-Box, and the Bear nodded his head
wisely.

“The Arctic Circle?” said Maida, “then we won’t have a bit of trouble.
We’ll just go right on; for the Arctic Circle is only an imaginary
line.”

“Do you mean to tell me I don’t see it?” asked Jack.

“You think you see it,” Maida replied severely, “but if you just ignore
it, why, it can’t keep us back a minute.”

“I’m going to find out,” said the Candy Kid, and he walked deliberately
into the wall and disappeared. The others quickly followed him, and in
a moment they found themselves on the other side, with the city before
them, and the wall stretching out to the East and West, behind them.

[Illustration: The Walrus Mends the Street]

The first thing they came upon was a Walrus, who was smoking a pipe and
repairing a hole in the street. You’ve seen the men set in the granite
blocks, or put down that black sticky stuff that is so nice to roller
skate on when it is all flattened out and hardened? Well, the Walrus
didn’t use blocks of stone or black sticky stuff on the
street, he simply set in a nice fresh block of ice and packed some snow
in the little cracks. The street was all ice blocks.

[Illustration: “He walked deliberately into the wall”]

Somehow Maida didn’t feel at all afraid of the Walrus. He looked very
kind, so she timidly went to him and spoke. “Please, sir----” Then she
shrank back a little, as the Walrus looked up in surprise. “I don’t
mean please, _sir_, for of course you’re not a _sir_, you’re only an
_it_--but _please_--can you tell us where we can go to get something to
eat?”

“On the corner of the next street,” the Walrus replied, “you will find
a street car which passes the hotel.”

“But we haven’t any carfare,” said Maida, turning to the others, “have
we?” And the others shook their heads dolefully.

“Oh, I’ll lend you carfare,” replied the Walrus, and he reached in his
pocket, drew out a large fish, and handed it to Maida. “Good-bye,” he
said, and began to work on another bad place in the road.

When they got to the corner they looked about for a street car, but
there wasn’t one in sight. Just then a large sledge drawn by four
reindeers dashed up. Somebody rang a bell. The sledge stopped, and a
pretty Eskimo girl got off and pattered away.

“This must be the car,” said Maida, and she was sure of it when she saw
the driver was a huge Penguin, and the conductor was a Seal wearing a
nice uniform. They climbed aboard, but the Seal wouldn’t let Fido go in
the sledge and sit down.

“Company rule,” he said gruffly, “Polar Bears must be left on the
platform,” so Fido curled up on the back of the car. Maida handed the
Seal Conductor the fish which the Walrus had loaned her. “Four?” he
asked, and Maida nodded; so he rang the bell four times, and gave her
the change, which was half a dozen sardines.

Maida will never forget that street car ride, the first day in
Arcturia. They passed through the market-place and saw ever so many
seals trading their cast-off coats for sugar plums, and gobbling them
up in a hurry as if they feared they would lose them.

They passed great high buildings, made out of blocks of ice, and saw
little Eskimo boys selling newspapers printed on sheets of ice. Maida
bought one, and after she had read it she ate it; and it was very
good. At last they came to the hotel. They all got out and went in the
office, and who do you think they found? Santa Claus and Billy and the
Man with the Growly Voice. The big Eskimo, Kankakee, and his pretty
daughter, Kokomo, while over in a corner stood the Disconsolate Lover
staring out of the window as if he hoped to see the White Lady he was
seeking.



Chapter XI


It took them an hour to tell each other where they had been and what
they did there, and where they were going and what they expected to
do, and you may well believe Maida was glad to see all of them again.
Especially Billy, for Billy was the very nicest boy. Maida was not
very fond of the boys at home. They were always throwing snowballs,
or fighting, or pulling the cat’s tail, or tying tin cans to the poor
dogs. Billy wasn’t a bit like that. The Man with the Growly Voice had
been delayed because he didn’t know the Arctic Circle was an imaginary
line so he had to get a ladder and climb over it, but he had managed
to preserve his can of climate through all his travels and Maida was
delighted to learn she would have his company the rest of the journey.
As for Santa Claus, he was anxious to reclaim Jack-in-the-Box and the
Candy Kid, but they flatly refused to go home until they had finished
the trip with Maida; so Santa decided to take Billy and go too, which
was very nice of him.

“Do you know,” said Jack-in-the-Box, as they all sat about the hotel
office planning the journey, “there is something wrong with my knee.”

“Rheumatism,” said Maida wisely.

“Nonsense,” replied Jack, “how can one have rheumatism in a
ball-bearing? It’s a hot box.”

“What is a hot box?” inquired the Candy Kid, “I never had one.” “Of
course not,” Jack answered, “if you had one you’d melt.”

“I know what a hot box is,” said Maida. “I was on a train once and it
stopped so we all got out to see what was the matter, and we found one
of the axles had got dry and set fire to things, and it was smoking
dreadfully.”

“You’d better go to a doctor,” said Billy solicitously.

“Doctor,” snapped Jack, “what good could _he_ do?” “You’d better send
for a plumber,” advised the Candy Kid.

“No, a plumber won’t do,” said Jack reflectively, “he would only say,
‘I’ll be around to-morrow with a piece of wire,’ and then put in a bill
for more than I’m worth. I am not sure when I’m to be repaired, whether
I go to the jeweler, or the blacksmith.”

Santa Claus put an end to the discussion, by thinking a new knee for
Jack, and as soon as he thought it, why there it was and Jack was as
spry as ever.

Maida wandered about the hotel marvelling at the wonder and beauty of
it. All the bell-boys were Albatrosses and they dusted the chairs with
their wings, and carried satchels in their bills. The elevator boy was
a dear little White Fox, and he invited Maida to take a ride with him.
So she did, and got off at the thirty-ninth story.

“I would take you higher,” barked the Fox, “but the sun is very hot
to-day, and the fortieth-story has just melted.”

So she stepped out of the elevator and walked about till she came to a
lovely big room, with frost letters on the door, which read, “Ladies’
Reception Room.” It was the most gorgeous room she had ever seen. The
pillars were made of solid green ice, the roof was all icicles and
stalactites, and the walls were covered with lovely frost pictures,
just the kind you see on the window on a cold day--and they changed
every now and then. While Maida was admiring the room she became aware
that someone was standing at a window gazing out over the city, and
looking closer she found it was the most beautiful lady she had ever
seen. Her face and hands were snow white, her long robe was white and
frosty. She wore a star on her forehead and her face was very sad. For
some reason Maida felt very sorry for this lady, so she went to her
and touched her on the arms. Did you ever put your hand on an awfully,
_awfully_ cold piece of ice on a winter’s day? Remember how it was
so cold it almost _burned_? Well, that’s the way Maida felt when she
touched the lady.

“My! but you’re cold!” said Maida, “I think you’ve got a chill.”

The lady smiled sadly, and looked at her, so Maida smiled back, but she
kept at a little distance.

“Who are you?” asked Maida, “and why do you smile so sadly? And why are
you so cold?”

“I am Stalacta, an ice maiden, one of the Vestals of the Queen Aurora
Borealis.” She sighed, and everything the lady said sounded exactly
like the most beautiful poetry. “And with my companions I had sworn
never to leave the Queen, but to serve her always. But one night I
had a dream--ah, a most glorious vision. I seemed to float away on
the bosom of a cloud, to a far land where all was light and warm and
beautiful--and there I saw one whom I can never forget--nay, I would
not forget him if I could. He was tall and straight and strong, his
face was kind and his eyes were true; and as he looked at me my heart
seemed to burst its icy bands, and I knew that I could never serve the
Queen again, but could only be happy--with him. I beckoned, he drew
near. I held out my arms, and then--I awoke. Night after night I dream
of him--night after night I see him holding out his arms; he is drawing
nearer, always nearer, and I will never rest till he finds me.”

“Ah, ah, ah, come with me quick!” cried Maida. So she put on her
mittens and took the Ice Lady by the hand, rushed her down the
elevator, and hurried her across the hotel office to where the
Disconsolate Lover was still standing, looking out the window.

“Here he is,” she cried to the Ice Lady; then to the Disconsolate
Lover, “Here is your dream--the White Lady.”

The Disconsolate Lover turned, and he and the White Lady stared a
moment at each other. Then _what_ did _he_ do, right before everybody
in the hotel office, but take the White Lady in his arms. But not
for long; you see he didn’t realize how awfully cold the White Lady
was, while _she_ didn’t realize how very warm _he_ was, being from
the South. So if he hadn’t let her go--she’d have melted. And the two
poor creatures who thought so much of each other were kept apart. The
Disconsolate Lover couldn’t kiss the White Lady’s hand.

“Oh, what shall we do?” sighed the White Lady. “I think so much of
you--I _do_ indeed; but you are fatal to me. If you come any nearer I’m
sure I shall melt.”

“You freeze me through and through,” he answered; “but I don’t care for
that--for you really are the most beautiful lady in the world.”

Then Maida had an inspiration, and she jumped up and down, clapping
her hands with joy, for she had found a way to get them out of their
troubles. “Come with us to the Wishing Post,” she cried, “and you can
wish, each to be like the other.”

Everybody clapped their hands at this, and said it was a fine idea, so
the Disconsolate Lover and the White Lady agreed to go along with them.



Chapter XII


“Now who’s going to show us the way across the Forbidden Land to the
City of Illusia where the North Pole is?” asked Maida.

“Fido, of course,” the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box replied together;
so the three hurried off to find Fido. They discovered him drinking
pink lemonade through a straw, lazily keeping cool with a palm leaf
fan, and quickly explained what they wanted him to do. Greatly to their
regret, as well as to his own, Fido could be of no assistance, as he
had never been any further North than Arcturia. He was willing to go
along with them, but he couldn’t lead the way. And although Maida and
the Candy Kid and Jack-in-the-Box, as well as Billy and Santa, and
the Man with the Growly Voice, looked about everywhere, they couldn’t
find anyone to guide them to the City of Illusia. So they put an
advertisement in the evening paper and waited. Very soon the big Chief
Kankakee followed by pretty little Kokomo and a number of Eskimos filed
into the office of the hotel. The Eskimos all sat down in a circle
while Kankakee stood in the centre and made a fine speech. As nearly as
we (Maida and I) can remember, the speech ran something like this:

“I am Kankakee, chief of this tribe and a person of great dignity
and importance. These, my vassals, will serve me to the death and go
wheresoever I bid them. Have I not spoken truly, Oshkosh?” (Whereupon
Oshkosh rose and made a low bow.)

“And of all the men in Arcturia I alone know the secret way across
the Forbidden Land, and I alone can guide you to the City of Illusia.
Answer, Keokuk, have I not said the truth?”

Keokuk rose. “You have indeed,” he answered humbly.

“Now, seeing that I am a person of such importance, it is well that
my service should receive a great reward. Therefore I will guide you
across the Forbidden Land to the City of Illusia but you must pay the
price I ask.”

Then Po-Dunk and Cai-Ro and Chi-Ca-Go and all the other Eskimos
solemnly nodded their heads and echoed “pay the price.”

“What price do you ask?” inquired the Man with the Growly Voice.

“I ask neither candles nor spear-heads,” replied Kankakee, “nor
fish-hooks, nor blubber.”

“I’m glad of that,” said the Man with the Growly Voice, “for I’m all
out of blubber, and my last spear-head is gone.” All the same he felt
very uneasy, for an Eskimo prizes spear-heads and fish-hooks very
highly, and dearly loves blubber; while candles are just the same
as lemon drops in Eskimo land. So he knew Kankakee meant to ask for
something very, very precious.

“Well, I must go to the North Pole,” he continued, “and if I can, I
will pay your price, so name it.”

Kankakee proudly tossed his head and went on with his speech.

“My daughter Kokomo is the child of a chief and it is fitting that
she should know all things. She should be taught by a great wizard
like you.” (You see Kankakee thought the Man with the Growly Voice was
a wizard because he had bottled up the Tropical Climate.) “Take my
daughter, therefore, into your tribe and teach her your magic, and I
will guide you--refuse, and you will never find the way.”

Then Kalam-Azoo and Wis-Consin and Neva-Da all nodded their heads and
repeated, “Never find the way.”

Well, of course, Maida was delighted, for she knew Kokomo liked her,
and wanted her for a playmate; but the Man with the Growly Voice was
dumbfounded, for he had never paid any attention to Kokomo or noticed
her; in fact, he did not know she was Kankakee’s daughter. So he turned
to Kankakee and said, “How old is your daughter?”

“She has seen fourteen days, and fourteen nights,” replied Kankakee
with dignity.

“Fourteen days and fourteen nights,” echoed the Man with the Growly
Voice, in amazement. “My goodness--you don’t want a teacher for her,
you want a nurse. I don’t mind adopting a little girl or so, but I
certainly object to search for the North Pole wheeling a baby in a
perambulator.”

Maida laughed and pushed Kokomo out from behind her father. “Here’s the
baby,” she laughed. “Don’t you remember up here the days and nights are
six months long?”

So Kankakee agreed to risk his life and guide them all across the
Forbidden Land, while the Man with the Growly Voice agreed to teach
Kokomo all his magic and to make friends with her. He searched through
his pockets, found an apple, and gave it to her.

She examined it carefully. “How shall I wear it?” she inquired.

Maida laughed and explained--“It isn’t to wear, it’s to _eat_.” So
Kokomo took a bite and liked it. Then Kankakee took a bite and liked
it, and the apple didn’t last very long.

“I never saw anything like that before,” observed Kokomo (meaning the
apple). “How did it come to be?”

“It grew on a tree,” said Maida.

“What’s a tree?” asked Kokomo.

“Why a tree is--a--a tree----” (Now do you know it _is_ rather
difficult to explain just what a tree is to a person who has never seen
one?) “Why a tree is a great big post of wood that grows right out of
the ground and there are leaves on it, and in the Summer apples hang
from the branches.”

Kokomo looked at Maida in a very disappointed way, then went to the Man
with the Growly Voice. “Did you hear what that little maid told me?”
she asked him and pointed to Maida.

“Oh, yes, and it’s quite true,” he replied, laughing.

Kokomo bowed humbly. “I am your handmaid--you are my Lord,” she said.
“If you say the story is true and these things are, then it is true,
and they _are_--I will believe you, if you bid me--but why not confess
the truth, that you _made_ the apple.”

By this time all of the natives of Arcturia who could crowd in the
hotel office were gathered about listening with all their ears. The Man
with the Growly Voice thought to dazzle them with stories of his own
country.

“In my country,” he began, “there are so many trees we cannot count
them. In the Summer they are all green. The grass is green too--it
grows like a carpet underfoot. Lovely clear rivers flow past the cities
and when the weather is warm there is no ice and snow and the young men
play and swim in the water, like the seals.” At this, a hoarse murmur
burst from the crowd--and an old medicine man pushed his way forward.

“You say your land is all green,” he shouted,--“all green.” Without
waiting for a reply, he continued--turning to his comrades. “Oh, a
horrible land. The green sun rises in the green East. The green seal
peers through a green hole in the ice. Men and women, bears and birds,
all green--oh, a horrible land”; and wildly shaking his head, he
hobbled away. Another took his place and shook his finger wildly in his
anger.

“It is not green in that land,” he shouted. “See this man is not green.
But his tongue is crooked. He tells us of posts of wood that grow out
of the ground. How can such things be? All men know that wood floats
in from the sea, when the ice is gone, and that it comes in no other
way. How then can it grow out of the ground? He speaks of grass that
grows like a carpet beneath the feet. How can this be? Is not the snow
and ice too thick for anything to force its way through? _We_ have
never seen anything like that. There is nothing of that sort here, and
everyone knows _this_ is the finest and most wonderful country in the
world. Then the horrible tale he tells about men who swim in the water
like seals. We know that to be false. It is well known that when water
covers a man, he dies. I am an old man but water has never touched my
skin.”

Then all the Eskimos began to talk at once--and--well, you never heard
anything like it. Maida and the Man with the Growly Voice tried to
explain, but the Eskimos simply couldn’t understand. Some took the
strangers for evil magicians and the others thought they were telling
whoppers. So the first thing they knew they were driven in disgrace
from the city.



Chapter XIII


The unexpected enmity of the natives of Arcturia was very distressing
to Maida, while her little friend Kokomo was filled with fear at the
prospect before her. She clung to the Man with the Growly Voice, and
moaned: “When we go to your dreadful land where all is green, you will
not let me turn green too,--will you? Nor will you let aught befall me.
Ah, I know you will not I fear me lest the awful grass pursue me as we
stroll on the green rivers--I tremble much lest some savage trees catch
and kill me.”

“Have no fear, little snowbird,” replied the Man with the Growly Voice
cheerfully, in a most reassuring manner; “you will be perfectly safe.
All the grass is tame, and with the exercise of a little agility you
can easily escape the attack of the most ferocious tree.” Whereupon
Kokomo was much comforted.

[Illustration: “How Do You Do?” in Eskimo]

Maida felt so sorry for Kokomo that she ran over to her, flung her arms
about her neck, and kissed her. Now, of course, Maida meant well; she
only wanted to make Kokomo happy; but it was the first kiss that had
ever happened in Arcturia. When the Eskimos wish to show great joy, and
welcome or salute someone, they stand on the right foot, rub their nose
with the left hand, and wiggle the left ear. So when Kankakee saw Maida
kiss his daughter he gave a howl of anger, and in a moment there were
half a dozen keen spears pointing at her bosom. And, of course, she
screamed.

“She was trying to steal my daughter’s breath,” shouted Kankakee, as
Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid tried to restrain him. “Tell me, oh,
my daughter, are you hurt?”

Kokomo considered for a moment, thought it all over, decided that she
was not hurt at all, and ended by going to Maida for another kiss.

“Oh, my father,” she said, after she got it, “this magic of the white
maiden is really very nice.”

This aroused the curiosity of Kankakee, who called Oshkosh and
awkwardly kissed him; but as Oshkosh was seventy years old, very ugly,
and extremely wrinkled, the result of the experiment was far from
pleasing; so Kankakee grunted his disapproval and arranged the line
of march. There was quite a procession when the caravan was complete.
First came twenty Eskimos on snowshoes. Then ten sledges drawn by dog
teams (on one of which rode Kokomo and the Man with the Growly Voice).
These were followed by Fido, still bearing Maida on his back, escorted
by the faithful Jack and the Candy Kid. Santa Claus was close behind
with his reindeer sleigh in which rode Billy, the White Lady, and the
Disconsolate Lover--while Kankakee came last, striding along behind to
see that no one straggled. When they were all in line, ready to start,
Kankakee warned them of the danger. “You are now in the Forbidden
Land,” he said, “and it is unlawful for any mortal to cross it. Keep
close together, and do not speak lest your voices betray you to one of
the snow sprites, who serve the Queen Aurora Borealis. Burrow beneath
the snow if danger threatens, and lie hidden till it has passed. The
most deadly peril we will encounter is Jack Frost. He may not discover
us--but if he should our fate is sealed. Mush!”

Maida began to feel a little uneasy. It wasn’t such a joke after all to
find the Wishing Post.

She must have dozed a little, for suddenly she awoke with a start to
find that everybody was standing still, looking at a strange being who
stood in their path. The Eskimos were cowering in a huddle and the dogs
lay on their stomachs with their ears flattened on their heads, looking
very much afraid. He who opposed their march was very beautiful--yet
very terrible, and Maida was so fascinated she could look at nothing
else. He was tall, oh, very tall, and rather thin. His face was lean
and white, and his nose curved like the beak of an eagle. But his eyes,
oh, those wonderful cruel eyes, they were light blue, and oh, so cold.
When he looked at Maida she shivered. In his hand he carried a sword,
not of steel, but made of something white that shone and glistened.
His dress too, was all white and glittery, but rather thin, though he
didn’t seem to mind the cold at all. While Maida was staring at him one
of the dogs leaped toward him. He did not move, or turn his head, he
merely let the end of the white sword fall till it touched the dog and
the poor creature fell over on its back--all stiff and frozen.

Then Maida knew who it was. It could be no one but Jack Frost, King
of the North Wind. Were you ever dreadfully frightened at a cow, or a
big bug, or even a snake? Well, do you remember that sting-y, creepy
feeling that went over the roots of your hair? Maida felt that every
separate hair was standing out straight in a different direction.

“You are mortals,” finally said Jack Frost, and the look on his face
was anything but pretty. “You are mortals and you have dared to cross
the Forbidden Land. What have you to say?”

No one had anything to say.

“You know the penalty,” he continued. “No mortal has braved my wrath
and lived.” All the Eskimos knelt before him and began to implore
mercy, but he paid no attention to them.

“Now pay the price of your madness,” he cried, and he waved the sword
of white once about his head.

They heard a crack and a crash behind them, and turning about Maida saw
a wide space of open water which prevented them from retracing their
steps. They were afloat on a huge cake of ice. But she had no time
to think about it, for she saw the white sword flash through the air
again, and oh my, the cold was awful. Even poor old Fido shivered and
grunted, and when a Polar Bear feels chilly you may know it is really
wintry. A third time Jack Frost waved his white sword, then he laughed
in a ghastly way, leaped up in the air, and disappeared in a shower of
snow crystals. No sooner was he gone than the wind rose and a terrible
gale blew with great fury, urging the ice-cake along through the black
water, just like an immense ship.

Now, of course you know there isn’t much open water in the Arctic
Circle, but the whole sea is frozen over and covered with an ice-floe
which never melts. Well, the ice-cake they were on came to the end of
the open water, tilted up, slid out on the ice-floe, then they began
to fly along just as if they were in an ice-boat. The wind blew harder
and harder, the cake slid faster and faster, racking and thumping and
cracking and crashing, and it’s no secret now--Maida wished she had
never, never, never come, but that she was back in her own little pink
and white bed at home.



Chapter XIV


It grew colder and colder. Maida cried out to the Man with the Growly
Voice and begged him to use one of the little tablets of condensed
climate. But he called back and told her the tablets were all gone--and
that if he turned on the tropical climate from the can the ice-cake
would all melt and they would sink to the bottom of the sea. So, of
course, there was nothing to do but hang on and cuddle up to the Bear.
Which she did.

At last they could see a long range of hills straight ahead, and they
knew they were nearly across the frozen seas. At lightning speed their
ice-boat dashed toward the cliffs and presently there was a great
crashing and splintering of ice. The ice-cake beat itself to pieces
on the rocks and the whole party found themselves scrambling about on
a most inhospitable shore. But they were all there, and all safe. The
Candy Kid chortled with glee. If you don’t know what chortle means get
out your dictionary. It isn’t an Eskimo word, though it sounds like
one--but it means exactly what the Candy Kid did.

“Well, at any rate,” he said, “we’ve left old Jack Frost behind.”

A mocking laugh answered him, and there stood Jack Frost as fierce, as
cold, as dangerous as ever. Fast as they had flown, he had travelled
faster, and was waiting for them. So, of course, they were all in the
depths of despair. Jack Frost blew a shrill blast on a silver whistle
and in a moment they were surrounded by a legion of his Ice-Guards, so
escape was out of the question.

Maida looked to the Man with the Growly Voice as if to beg him for
protection. To her surprise he did not seem to be in the least afraid;
he actually winked at her, as he unslung his can of climate and
commenced to fiddle with the little keys and dials on it. And her heart
leaped with joy, for she felt that in some way he would get them all
out of the trouble.

Well, to begin with, they all came in for a good lecture. Jack Frost
just gave it to Billy and Santa Claus for not staying at home where
they belonged and making toys. Then he scolded the White Lady severely.
It seemed that once upon a time he had asked her to leave the service
of Aurora Borealis and come and be Queen of the North Wind, which she
refused (and I don’t blame her--do you?), so when he saw her with the
Disconsolate Lover, he was very, very angry. After he got through with
those two he turned his attention to Kankakee and the Eskimos, lectured
them for guiding strangers into the Forbidden Land, and to make it
worse he lectured them in Eskimo talk, so I can’t begin to tell you
what he said--but it sounded dreadful--even the dogs howled mournfully.

Then it was Maida’s turn; and as his eye lighted on her, she felt that
shivery feeling in her hair dreadfully. When she was at home Maida had
been scolded by mama and Aunt Mary, and once in a while by the cook
when she ventured into the kitchen. At school she had been reprimanded
once or twice by the Teacher--and the big Policeman on the corner--(his
name was Murphy, and oh, how she wished he was by her side for he
wasn’t afraid of anything)--well, Murphy had talked to her severely
when she slipped across the street in front of the trolley car instead
of waiting for him to lead her over. But never, oh, never, had anybody
given her such a scolding as she got from Jack Frost. I can’t begin
to tell you all he said, so I won’t tell you any of it--but when he
finished poor Maida was sure she was the most foolish and wicked little
girl who ever tried to find the North Pole. And all the time the Man
with the Growly Voice was tinkering with the Can of Climate and turning
little handles and pressing little levers. Maida was on pins and
needles, for something seemed to have gone wrong.

[Illustration: In the Cake of Ice]

Her attention was attracted by four of the Ice-Guards, who dragged
up a huge black box. Looking closer Maida saw it was a tank filled
with water, while the front was made of glass, just like the aquarium
where they keep the fish. Instinctively she clung to Fido, for she
felt something was going to happen--and it did. Two of the Ice-Guards
seized her, and drew her to the side of the tank. Oh, it was just
like a nightmare. It seemed that nobody could move, or speak, or do
anything to help her--something dreadful was going on, and she couldn’t
cry and she couldn’t call out. She was not left long in suspense.
Jack Frost picked her up, just as you would pick up a kitten, held
her over the tank, and dropped her in the water. Down, down, down
she sank to the very bottom. She looked through the glass and saw
all her friends outside, and she stretched out her arms to them for
help. Then Jack Frost waved the white sword. All the water in the
tank instantly froze, the sides of the tank fell away, and there she
was--not drowned but frozen in a solid cake of ice. Oh, it was deathly
cold, and she couldn’t move--and she could not get her breath. And
then--_ssssssshhhh_, the Man with the Growly Voice opened the
can of climate. Well, you never saw anything like it. The Ice-Guards
disappeared in a cloud of steam--the falling snow turned to rose
leaves, then to a rain of lovely flowers. The ice and snow disappeared
like magic, the ice block that imprisoned Maida simply vanished, and
she found herself free. The air was full of Spring. Jack Frost gave a
horrible yell and flew away. Fido clasped Maida in his paws and danced
for joy. Everybody danced and sang, for palm trees and banana plants
and lovely creepers and runners were growing all about--produced by the
tropical climate. The Candy Kid smiled at Jack-in-the-Box.

[Illustration: The Explorer Turns on the Tropical Climate]

“Spring has come,” he said.



Chapter XV


The tropical climate did its work well. There wasn’t an iceberg left or
a snowflake anywhere in sight. And when the Man with the Growly Voice
took a nice swim in the warm water of the Polar Sea, the admiration
and enthusiasm of the Eskimos was unbounded. They realized they had
been told the truth about the Southland. Kokomo lost her fear of trees,
helped Maida weave garlands of flowers, and found the grass nice to
tumble about on. Everybody took off their heavy fur coats, with the
exception of Fido; of course he couldn’t take _his_ off--and really
the heat did distress him terribly. Poor fellow, he wandered about
from place to place, seeking a cool spot. Jack-in-the-Box watched his
restless movements curiously, then turned to the Candy Kid.

“Fido is a fine piece of handicraft,” he said. “I’ve never seen him
wound, yet I don’t believe he ever runs down. Do you know, I think he’s
an eight-day bear.”

They had a lovely supper of cocoanuts and breadfruit, with bananas and
oranges for dessert; but when they prepared to resume their journey to
Illusia they were confronted by a new difficulty,--Kankakee could no
longer guide them. He knew the way across the Forbidden Land of course,
after leaving Arcturia you go to the third iceberg, and turn to the
left, then straight ahead, six hundred miles--so forth and so on. He
knew all that, but all his landmarks had been swept away; he could not
guide them through a tropical jungle. Then Maida had a brilliant idea.
For such a little girl Maida was always thinking lots and lots of
clever things. She called Santa Claus who came over, took her on his
knee, and chucked her under the chin.

“When you go about at Christmas time,” she said, “how do you get up on
the roofs?”

“My reindeers are marvels,” chuckled Santa Claus. “They can run on the
snow, in the water, or in the air.”

“Splendid, splendid!” shouted Maida in great glee. “Now I’ll tell you
what to do. Take the Man with the Growly Voice in your sledge, and go
back to where our flying machine fell. It’s big enough to hold all of
us, and we’ll be in Illusia in no time.”

“But my flying ship is broken,” objected the Man with the Growly
Voice. “The starboard wing is smashed, and there is a hole in the
taffrail.”

“I thought of that, too,” Maida answered. “Santa Claus, you just
imagine it’s a great big toy and think it mended. Then it will fly.”
Whereupon everybody shouted for joy. Santa Claus sat back laughing till
he shook like a jelly.

“I can do better than that,” he said. “I’ll think it mended, then I’ll
think it here, and we won’t have to go after it at all.” So he did.
He stood up and put his hands in front of his eyes, and _thought_,
oh very, very hard indeed. Then presently he said smiling, “It’s all
right, it’s mended.” Then he thought and thought again (and let me tell
you it takes a good hard think to make an airship fly seven hundred
miles), and the first thing they knew the flying ship came sailing
through the air and plumped down at their feet, just as good as ever.
Of course everyone was delighted--that is, everyone except the Eskimos.
_They_ were frightened and climbed trees, crying out the airship was
an evil spirit; and it was hard work to coax them down. But at last
everybody got aboard, and the reindeers were hitched behind because
there wasn’t room on the ship for them. And as everybody was tired and
sleepy except Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid, who couldn’t tire,
and who never slept, the two were appointed by the Man with the Growly
Voice, who was captain, to stand the first watch. They were very proud
to be entrusted with the care of the airship. They assumed a knowing
air, and cheerily sang the chorus of “Sailing, Sailing!” But the Man
with the Growly Voice stopped them (for while they were cunning, they
were _not_ good singers--neglecting to sing the same thing at the same
time, and absolutely refusing to stay on the same key).

“Jack, you take the wheel,” he said.

“Aye, aye, sir!” said Jack, touching his forelock. “Where’ll I take
it?” The Man with the Growly Voice showed him how to guide the ship,
and said: “Now steer N. W. by S. E.”

“Oh no,” said Jack, “let’s steer C. O. D. by O. K.,” and he twisted
the wheel till the flying ship was waltzing in circles. It took some
time to make him behave. Then the Candy Kid was given charge of the
engine. “Be very careful not to desert your post”; he was cautioned,
“don’t go too high, for we might not get down again, and whatever you
do, don’t swallow any of the gas, it’s fatal. Now I’m going below.
You’ll be relieved at eight bells.” And the Man with the Growly Voice
turned in. The Candy Kid meditated a moment, then said to Jack, “Now
we can have our duel.” “I don’t see how,” Jack answered. “You ninny,”
retorted the Candy Kid, “didn’t you hear him say the gas was fatal?”
“Fatal? Is it really?” inquired Jack. “Bring me a handful, I’ll try
it.” Well, of course, the Candy Kid was disgusted. Jack was so silly.
“Do you think gas is like cheese?” he snapped. “I can’t carry it around
in my hands.” “Oh, I see,” observed Jack, “it’s too heavy.” “By the
way,” reflectively, “what is cheese?” “Cheese,” said the Candy Kid,
“is the mother of welsh rabbit, grandmother of indigestion--related
to nightmare, on the father’s side.” “Very interesting,” murmured
Jack, “why can’t we have a duel with cheese?” There was a silence for
a moment. Jack had nothing more to say. The Candy Kid had lots, but
he was too angry to say it. An idea struck Jack presently. “Kid,” he
called. “Kid.” The Candy Kid angrily turned and listened. Jack went on.
“We can’t have a duel with gas, without a meter. I never saw a meter,
but I’m told they’re terrible things. You run the gas through, then you
look at the meter, and drop dead.” The Candy Kid pointed to a rubber
tube that hung from the bag overhead. “We’ll eat the gas through this
tube,” he said. “I see,” Jack replied, “and who wins the duel--the one
who eats the most?” “Oh, no,” said the Candy Kid, “the one wins who
dies the quickest.” So they left the flying machine to steer herself
and run herself and swallowed all the gas they would hold. If Maida
hadn’t happened to come up on deck no one would ever have known what
became of them, and there’s no telling what would have happened to the
flying machine, for both Jack and the Candy Kid were turned into little
balloons by the gas they had swallowed, and they bounced about on the
deck, unable to get a foothold--until finally a little breeze swept
them gently off, and the last Maida saw of them they were floating away
to leeward holding each other’s hand and singing, “Up in a balloon,
boys, up in a balloon.”



Chapter XVI


Of course Maida gave the alarm and the whole company came tumbling up
the hatchway in a twinkling. The Disconsolate Lover manned the engine.
The Man with the Growly Voice took the tiller and the airship started
in pursuit of the lost chums. By this time the two realized their
plight and were just as anxious to return as their friends were to have
them back; but they could do absolutely nothing to help themselves.
Aboard the airship they could hear the voice of poor Jack, off in the
haze saying, “I shall run down, I know I shall, and then what will
happen!”

“Run down,” retorted the Candy Kid. “Why, you can’t even _fall_ down.
We’re up here to stay.”

They tried to swim through the air, and waved their arms and kicked
their legs, but couldn’t advance an inch; they were at the mercy of
the breeze. Every time the flying ship approached them, off they would
float in another direction--just like--did you ever try to drive
chickens out of a garden, and just when you thought you had them
cornered, they somehow went between your legs, or over your head, or
under your arm? Well, that’s exactly the kind of time the people on the
airship had with the two chums.

“Where do we belong anyway?” queried Jack as the two hung suspended
over a huge volcano--“are we citizens of Alaska, or Arcturia, or
Illusia?”

“I’m inclined to think,” replied the Candy Kid, “that if we’re included
in the census it will be under the head of _floating_ population.”

No doubt they’d have been soaring about yet, but Maida thought of a
splendid scheme. You will notice that whenever anything serious was the
matter, Maida hit on the remedy. And in this case, it was very simple.
Santa Claus and Billy just climbed on a reindeer each, and cantered
off across the clouds, until they came to Jack and the Candy Kid. They
picked them up and laid them across the necks of the reindeers and
galloped back with them.

“Whatever made you do it?” tearfully asked Maida, after she had petted
both of them.

“It was a duel,” said the Candy Kid darkly, and that was all they could
get out of him. But it made Maida feel very badly, for she realized the
two were fighting duels again over the mysterious somebody who was the
cause of their rivalry, and she wondered and wondered who it was.

Well, they pumped all the gas they could out of Jack and his chum,
and tied flat-irons to their feet so that there was no danger of them
floating away again, and the rest of the trip to Illusia was made
without misfortune. Maida was asleep when they arrived at the City,
and when she dressed and went on deck, she found the airship moored to
a totem pole just outside the walls, and everybody gone. She searched
the ship high and low, but there was no sign of her friends. She knew
there was danger for a mortal in the City of Illusia. If she were found
there she would be put to death; but she decided to take the chance,
thinking she could escape detection in the crowds. So she slipped off
and entered the huge gate. She was simply amazed at the beauty around
her everywhere.

Huge palaces on every hand made of gold and silver covered with
wonderful pictures and arabesques. Pointed turrets that hung overhead
roofed with polished copper. Tall towers of pearl and porcelain seemed
to reach to the very skies. The streets were paved with marble, the
fountains ran soda water, there were flowers everywhere, and no signs,
“Keep off the grass” or “Private.” But nobody was in sight. She strayed
about through the deserted squares, and among the temples and shops,
till finally she met a man hurrying as if he were late for supper. She
stopped him. “Please, sir, are you an Illusion?” she asked.

“I am a citizen of Illusia,” he answered, without stopping, “yes!”

Maida hurried along by his side. “Tell me sir,” she inquired, “what
makes Illusia so beautiful?”

The man smiled kindly. “Illusia is beautiful,” he answered, “because
it is built of the rose-tinted dreams of young maidens and the brave
hopes of youth. The dreams and the visions of the children are not
wasted. They are brought here--they are used to build our palaces and
temples. Time can never shatter them--they can never be destroyed.”
And so he went his way. Although Maida did not understand exactly, she
thought what he said was very pretty.

By and by she found out why the streets were deserted. She came to a
great Plaza, and there was the whole population of the city packed in
a dense crowd, evidently waiting for something to happen. She decided
she would wait too, and she managed to make her way to the front of the
crowd. No sooner had she found a nook somewhat sheltered, than a huge
shaft of light, pure white and almost blinding, shot up from the palace
which faced the Plaza. All the people were delighted to see the white
light and murmured with joy.

“What is it?” inquired Maida turning to the little girl next to her, “a
searchlight?”

“Huh,” replied the girl, “don’t you know? That’s the Queen, Aurora
Borealis.”

Maida realized she was in deadly danger, but it was too late to
retreat, so she simply waited.

A herald came out on the steps of the palace and blew three blasts on a
trumpet.

“Make way for Aurora Borealis, the Queen of Illusia, the most beautiful
creature in the world,” he cried. A long procession of young ladies, in
white cling-y dresses came out of the palace, and every one was more
beautiful than the one who preceded her.

“My goodness, they’re pretty!” Maida said. “If the Queen is any
prettier, she must be just grand.”

All the trumpets played, the beautiful girls sang, the crowd hurrahed
and bowed.

Then an ugly old woman waddled out of the palace door and waddled down
the steps into the Plaza. She must have been eighty at least. She had
a red face and pop eyes, her nose was like a banana, and three of her
teeth were missing. My! but she was a fright.

“Who’s that?” inquired Maida of her neighbor, “the cook?”

“The _cook_!” echoed the girl. “Why, that’s the Queen, Aurora Borealis.”

Sure enough, it was!



Chapter XVII


Maida stared in astonishment, but the ugly old woman was Queen Aurora
Borealis beyond a doubt. On her head she wore a great golden crown, and
as Maida stared at her the same blinding white light flashed from it
straight up to the sky, and everybody was pleased because the Queen was
pleased.

Aurora stopped and smiled. I wish I could describe that smile, but it
would take three painters and a photographer to do it justice.

“Good-morning, my children!” she cried, “Who is the Queen of Beauty?”
And altogether everybody said, “You are.”

Aurora smiled still more.

“Who is the Pride of Illusia?” she asked. Again a chorus arose, “You,
divine Queen!”

“Yes, of _course_!” smirked Aurora; and then looking directly at Maida,
she added, “a little louder over there.”

The eyes of the multitude turned toward the stranger and Maida realized
she must speak. “You, divine Queen!” she quavered.

“Don’t be so piano in your praise,” remarked Aurora, “a little
enthusiasm goes a long way.” Then turning to her subjects, she added:
“Do you know my children, I envy you.”

As if spoken by one man, a mighty “Why?” rose from the multitude.

“Why?” repeated Aurora astonished, “because you can gaze on _me_. You
can feast your eyes on my lovely face.” Then turning to Maida, she
added fiercely, “it _is_ lovely--isn’t it?” Maida managed to pipe out,
“Oh, very!” but she felt guilty of telling an awful whopper.

“You can gladden your eyes with my sylph-like form,” and again turning
to Maida, continued, “If I’m not mistaken, it _is_ sylph-like?”

“If you please,” murmured Maida, “I don’t know what a sylph is, I never
saw one, but I am sure they couldn’t look any worse.”

Luckily for Maida, the Queen did not hear the last part of her speech.
A minion approached Aurora, and distracted her attention by presenting
her with a paper which bore a huge red seal.

“What’s this?” she inquired petulantly, “didn’t you hear me? I was
talking about myself. Every time I get absorbed in an interesting topic
you come along and spoil it. What’s the matter?”

“Your noble Majesty,” humbly replied the minion, “Santa Claus, the
toy-maker, has deserted his post. We caught him here, together with two
of his creatures.”

Aurora frowned, then the entire assembly fell on their knees and hid
their faces. From the golden crown a huge shaft of fierce red light
shot up to the sky, turning the Plaza to crimson.

Then other minions brought on poor Santa Claus with his arms tied
behind him, and Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid handcuffed together.
Maida realized at once why her friends had all disappeared from the
airship. No doubt they had all been captured--and she alone had been
spared. She began to plan their escape. Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy
Kid were made to stand in a line with Santa Claus, and were so close
to Maida she could have touched them. The trial was very short. Santa
Claus was banished. The Candy Kid was to be broken up and fed to the
kiddies in Illusia, and the key of Jack-in-the-Box was to be thrown
away, and he was never to be wound up again. Forgetting her danger,
Maida had drawn closer and closer to the Candy Kid, so that when Aurora
had sentenced him, the next thing she saw was a strange little girl who
did not in the least look like one of the children of Illusia.

Maida thought her time had come, but a lucky accident saved her, as
Aurora mistook her for some sort of a doll Santa Claus had made.

“Oh, here’s another toy,” she said, squinting at Maida, for she was
very near-sighted. “I didn’t notice this one at first. Ugly little
thing, isn’t it?”

Maida was about to protest, but a whisper from Santa Claus frightened
her to silence.

“Still for your life!” he said. “If she learns you are a mortal, you
will be put to death.”

So Maida stood stock still, and never even winked an eye. A pretty
little boy, Aurora’s page, who carried her sceptre, stared at Maida
critically. “I think it’s rather pretty,” he said.

“Pretty?” said Aurora, “pooh, pooh! Why, it’s very badly made. The arms
are much too long--the body is too slender,” and she gave Maida a poke
in the ribs which made the poor child gasp for breath. “The color is
bad and the face is--waxy. I could do better work than that. I’ll have
them break it in pieces.” Maida began to tremble. The little page,
however, was persistent.

“If you’re going to have it broken up,” he said, “why not give it to
me?”

“Certainly,” said Aurora; and before Maida realized what had happened,
she was seized, folded double, packed away in a box, and was being
carted off somewhere, not daring to cry out for fear they would
discover she was a mortal, and put her to death.

[Illustration: Maida was Carted away in a Box]



Chapter XVIII


Of course Maida didn’t know what happened in the Plaza after she was
packed in the box, and carted away, but she was told about it afterward
by Jack-in-the-Box. Business being disposed of, Aurora turned off the
red light and the crowd rose with a sigh of relief.

“Now that we’ve settled and done with all this nonsense, let’s talk of
something really worth while,” said Aurora. “Let’s talk about _me_.
Unbind those two rogues, and let them approach,” and she pointed to
Jack and the Candy Kid who were thereupon unbound and persuaded to draw
near. Neither of them had paid particular attention to Aurora, so when
she stood in front of Jack and smirked at him, all his machinery began
to rattle and creak and whirr like mad.

“Let me run down,” he cried, “let me run down, I don’t want to see any
more.”

As for the Candy Kid, he took one good look then covered his eyes
with his hands. Luckily Aurora misunderstood their meaning. “My fatal
beauty,” she sighed. “The sun is too bright for our eyes. I must be
like that to them. Such appreciation is a compliment. I pardon you
both. Now tell me,” as they started to bow themselves away, “Did you
ever see anything just like me before?” “We never did,” replied the
two, and Aurora smirked. “For _your_ sake,” she said, “I will forgive
the toy-maker. I had no idea he could make such clever marionettes.
I’ll have him make me a couple of hundred.” Just at this moment there
was a diversion. Fido came galloping through the Plaza. Not being
accustomed to Polar Bears, although they have a lovely Zoo, the
Illusians scattered.

[Illustration: Fido Flew]

With his nose to the ground Fido was following the scent of his two
chums and before anyone had a chance to prevent him he reared up and
stood face to face with Aurora. She smiled on him. Did you ever see
a fox terrier run after a cat? Then just when your heart was in your
mouth the cat got tired of running, sat down, and stared in the dog’s
face. Do you remember how the dog acted? Well, when the Bear came face
to face with that awful smile he acted just like a very small pup who
has chased a very large cat and discovered his mistake. Then he fled.

“Ah, if I could only see my own face,” murmured Aurora.

“If you only _could_!” said Jack.

“Why don’t you look in a mirror?” asked the Candy Kid.

“Mirror--what is that?” inquired Aurora. “I never heard of such a
thing. What is a mirror?”

“A mirror,” said the Candy Kid, “is a device that always attracts the
attention of the ladies. You can see your face in it.”

“If I had one could I see _my_ face?” asked Aurora eagerly. “You
could,” answered the Candy Kid.

“I want a mirror!” shouted Aurora. “I want a mirror. If I don’t get a
mirror, I’ll turn on the red light and I’ll never turn it off. I’ll
chop off everybody’s head if I don’t get a mirror.”

The Candy Kid leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Santa Claus always
carries one in his coat pocket so he can see to rub the smut off his
face when he climbs out of the chimneys.”

Aurora dashed over to Santa Claus.

“Aren’t you ashamed,” she shouted. “Here I’ve been asking for a
mirror and you wouldn’t lend me yours. I’ve a notion to--there, never
mind--let me have it. You don’t need to see _your_ face, you know, for
you’re ugly and old, while I--” and she snatched the mirror from him.
“Now everybody stand back, please,” she gurgled, “and give me room. I’m
going to see my face for the first time.”

The crowd watched with bated breath, while Jack and the Kid sniggered.
Aurora took the mirror proudly, held it up before her, and gazed into
it.

[Illustration: The Queen Sees her Face]

“There’s some mistake about this mirror,” she cried. “Some ugly old
woman has looked in it and her face has stuck in there. She won’t get
out.” Then to her reflection in the mirror, she shouted, “Get out of
there, you ugly thing--get out!”

But of course as long as she stared at the mirror her reflection stared
back at her.

“Who do you suppose that is?” she asked the Candy Kid.

“Why, that’s _you_,” he replied.

“Do I look like that?” she screamed.

“Worse,” answered Jack-in-the-Box, briefly. A flash of red light burst
from the golden crown, and the crowd fled in terror. Then the light
changed to blue, to green, and all the colors of the rainbow, every
color trying to get out of the top of the crown at once. “Oh, see the
pretty fireworks,” said Jack-in-the-Box, pointing to the lights.

Finally, overcome by grief and rage, Aurora swooned, and tumbled over
on the marble paving.

“My goodness!” said the Candy Kid, “she’s going to melt.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Jack-in-the-Box, “she’s run down. There’s
something wrong with her works.”



Chapter XIX


You can readily understand Maida was not at all comfortable in that
box. It was very dark inside and very stuffy and hot. The box jolted
and swayed till it nearly made her seasick; and to add to her woe she
hadn’t the faintest idea what would become of her, for she knew that
sooner or later they would discover she was a little girl and not a toy.

After what seemed ages and ages, though no doubt it was only an hour
or so, the box ceased tipping and tilting, and came to a stop. Dimly
through the wooden sides of her prison she heard voices, and realized
she was the subject of a conversation. “What have you in the box?” said
one voice. “The most wonderful toy you ever saw,” was the reply,
and she recognized the tones of her captor.

“Toy?--Huh!” sneered the first speaker. “What kind of a toy?”

“A marvellous doll,” answered the other. Then there were shouts of
laughter and derision, and it seemed that all the acquaintances and
companions of the little Page were teasing him, calling him “Girl
Baby,” and asking him why he didn’t wear dresses; in short, behaving
just as boys would behave at home if they saw a schoolmate with a doll.
But their mirth died away and the teasing ceased when the Page opened
the box, threw the lid back--and pulled Maida to her feet.

My, how cramped and stiff she was! Both arms and legs were asleep, and
she wavered, so she could hardly stand upright, which of course made
her look more than ever like a marionette.

“_That_ isn’t a doll,” finally said one of the boys.

“Oh yes,” replied the Page, “it is a marionette made by the toy maker
who lives across the Forbidden Land.”

Maida forgot her danger in her embarrassment and snapped out, “I’m not.”

“Why, she can speak,” said the boy in great surprise.

“Oh yes,” replied the Page, coolly, “and she can run too.”

“I wish I had a chance,” thought Maida, slyly peering about for a
possible avenue of escape; but there was none, for all the boys
were crowded about admiring her.

“Can she laugh?” asked one, and without waiting for an answer, he
tickled Maida in the ribs. Well you know how it is yourself when
somebody holds you with one hand so you can’t get away, and points the
forefinger of the other hand at you and it comes closer and closer,
till finally--why of course you just can’t help laughing. At any rate,
Maida couldn’t; serious as was her plight, she burst into a scream of
laughter (for she was an awfully ticklish little girl), which filled
all the boys with delight. The one who had tickled her was so elated
with his success he tried a new trick.

“She can weep, too, mayhap,” he said, and pinched her. Oh, a real hard
pinch--right on the arm! There was no doubt about it, Maida could
weep--and _did_.

“You cruel thing,” she screamed, and burst into tears, at which the
boys only laughed the more.

“She’s not a toy, she’s alive,” said the cruel boy staring at her.

“Oh, no,” said the Page, “if it were alive it would be put to death,
for it’s a stranger. It’s a toy.”

“What’ll you take for it?” cried one--and in a moment all the boys
were chaffering with the Page, offering him their most precious
possessions, and trying to bargain for Maida. But the Page refused to
sell.

“I’m going to take it home,” he said, “and take it to pieces. You see,
when I saw the arms and legs off----” Maida could bear no more. She
leaped out of the box, overturned two of the boys, pushed the Page
aside, and was off, running like the wind. She didn’t know where, she
didn’t care much, and she was out of sight around the corner before
the Page and his friends picked themselves up and recovered from their
astonishment. Then, of course, they followed her. How she ran! It
seemed as though fright lent her speed. But the boys were all older
and larger, so very soon she heard their footsteps close behind and
realized they were gaining on her. She had reached another one of
those large squares or parks, surrounded with palaces, but she could
see no way out of it except the way she had just come. In the middle
of the park defended by a railing was a tall thin tower, or rather a
huge mast, built of something that looked like mother-of-pearl all
shiny and shimmery. It occurred to her that if she hid behind this
her pursuers might pass her by, so she rushed toward it. Alas, there
was no hope--the Page running faster than his friends was almost near
enough to touch her. Tired and dizzy as she reached the great mast she
stumbled and clutched it for support.

“I wish you boys would go away and let me alone,” she screamed.

Then a most marvelous thing happened. Instantly the Page and all his
friends stopped, turned their backs, and walked away without a word.
Maida was simply dumbfounded. What had saved her? She looked about,
looked at the vacant square, looked behind her at the palaces, looked
at the mother of pearl mast which towered overhead. Then she knew. At
last, at last she had found the Wishing Post, and her very first wish
had been granted!



Chapter XX


Wasn’t it splendid! Her very first wish came true. Well, thank
goodness, it wouldn’t be long until she was a young lady--still there
was no hurry. She wasn’t sure just what kind of a young lady she wanted
to be. Besides she must make a list of things she meant to wish for, so
as not to forget any of them. There was no safer place for her anywhere
in Illusia, for if anybody tried to capture her, she need only put out
her hand, touch the Wishing Post and wish them away. All her fear left
her and she cuddled down in a heap and began writing her list with
a stubby pencil on a little scrap of paper she found in her pocket.
Suddenly her attention was attracted by a pitiful sight at the other
end of the square.

A young boy was leading a poor old man who hobbled painfully along,
leaning on a cane. Both were dressed in rags and tatters, and the old
man, whose beard and hair were white, wore a green bandage over his
eyes which hid half his face, so Maida guessed he was blind. She felt
very sorry, and watched them to see what they meant to do, but felt
afraid to go to them, on account of the boy;--her last experience
with boys had been so unpleasant. At some little distance the old man
staggered and then sat down on a bench at the border of the roadway.

“Oh I am so tired, so tired,” he moaned. “Where are we, my lad?”

“I don’t know,” she heard the boy answer, “this is the first time I was
ever in Illusia.” And there was something about the boy’s voice that
sounded very familiar to Maida. It reminded her of--_who did_ it remind
her of? The old man bent his head sadly. “If I only had my eyes,” he
said. The boy patted him on the shoulder and answered cheerfully--“Oh
you’ll have them soon, and then all will be well.”

Maida tried to _remember_ where she had heard his voice. Then a
dreadful thing occurred. Two big Illusian policemen--and they are
much bigger and fiercer than the kind we have down here--ran into the
square, seized the boy, and despite his cries and entreaties dragged
him away, leaving the poor old blind man helpless and alone. As soon
as they were out of sight Maida ran to the old man who was calling out
piteously, and soothed him.

“What can I do to help you?” she asked him.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” he answered sorrowfully. “You see I am
blind, little girl, I am blind. Because my mirror showed the Queen
Aurora how ugly she was, I was forced to look upon the purple light
that shone from her golden crown. So now I cannot see. I shall never
see again. And they have taken away my boy. I am all alone, all alone!”

“No, not alone,” replied Maida, “I will guide you. It seems to me I
have heard your voice, as well as your boy’s. Lift the bandage and let
me see your face.”

The old man pushed back the bandage and you can imagine Maida’s
surprise when she saw it was Santa Claus! She threw her arms about him
and told him who she was. You may just believe he was glad to find her.

“And now,” she said joyously, “I’ve a great surprise for you. You shall
have your eyes back. No, don’t ask me to tell you how, but you shall
see again--and very soon.” So she guided his faltering steps across the
square to the Wishing Post. She touched it and wished Santa Claus to
have his eyes again. Then she turned and asked him, “Can you see?”

“Not yet,” he answered, so she tried it again. The second wish failed
just as the first. Maida was dismayed.

“Something is the matter,” she cried. “I’ve wished and wished but it
doesn’t come true. What shall we do?”

Santa Claus tottered toward her. “Aren’t you ashamed to play tricks on
a poor old blind man--one who loved you so?” he asked. Of course that
made poor Maida feel worse than ever.

“I wasn’t playing tricks,” she sobbed, “indeed--indeed I wasn’t. But it
doesn’t seem to work, though I tried my best. Can’t--can’t you ‘think’
yourself a new pair of eyes?”

“I can only think toys,” replied Santa Claus in a hopeless tone,
turning away. He stumbled a wee bit and reached out his hand to save
himself from falling. As he did so he touched the Wishing Post. “I wish
they couldn’t arrest Billy,” he said. Now, he didn’t realize he was
touching the Wishing Post, but, of course, the Post didn’t know that,
and it went to work to give him his wish. The gates of the prison flew
open, there was a noise like breaking chains and rending bars, then
Billy came out of the jail as if he were propelled by some invisible
force. A half dozen policemen followed him, but every time they touched
him they turned somersaults or flew up in the air and fell about, till
finally they grew frightened, ran inside the jail, and locked the
doors, leaving Billy standing staring about amazed. But he soon saw
Santa Claus and Maida and started over to them.

[Illustration: The Gates of the Prison Flew Open]

“Oh Billy--Billy boy,” cried Maida, as he drew near, “come quick,
quick.” So Billy ran. Maida rattled on almost breathless, with mingled
hope and fear--“I tried to wish his eyes back and I can’t. _You_ try.”
So Billy tried, and in a moment Santa Claus had his eyes back and
could see as well as ever. How he did hug Maida and then Billy, and
what a happy trio they were.

“And now,” said Maida, “that the Wishing Post is at work again, I’m
going to be a young lady.” So she made her wish. “Has it happened?” she
inquired.

“No,” said Billy.

“That’s funny,” she observed, “my first wish came true in a jiffy.”

“Have you had one?” asked Billy. She told him “yes.”

“Too bad,” he replied, “you can’t have another for a long time. The law
is, only one within a year.”



Chapter XXI


Think of it, Maida couldn’t have another wish for a year! “Do you mean
to say,” she asked Billy, “that I will have to stay here in Illusia and
be a little girl until next New Year’s Day?”

“I’m afraid you will,” replied Billy. And, of course, Maida was deeply
disappointed. All her fears revived because she realized she no longer
had a protector in the Wishing Post. There was nothing to save her from
her enemies in case they attacked her.

“I don’t think it’s safe here,” she said to Billy, “we have all lost
our wishes, and the best thing we can do is to try to get back to the
flying ship and have the Man with the Growly Voice take us away.” So
they all started to make their way through the city of Illusia to the
flying ship.

By this time the people had left the Plaza and were going home to
dinner, or to supper, or to work, or wherever people go when a big
crowd breaks up; and the streets were full of them. The three were
jostled and pushed, as people always are in a narrow street when it is
crowded. And before she realized what had happened, Maida was separated
from Santa Claus and Billy, and swept away in an eddy of the crowd.

She called and called, but no one answered. She was afraid to ask any
of the Illusians where she was or how to get anywhere else because they
would know she was a stranger; then she would be captured and turned
over to the Queen; so she simply wandered about. But oh! she was so
tired, and so drowsy; so when she came to a pretty park where there
were some nice long benches and the trees cast a deep shadow, she
decided to take a nap. She stretched out on the bench and closed her
eyes.

The first thing she knew she felt someone tapping her on the soles of
the feet with a stick. Did you ever see a policeman wake up a tramp
who had gone to sleep on a park bench when he shouldn’t by rapping him
on the soles of the feet with his club? Well, that’s exactly what this
Illusian policeman did to Maida.

“Come, little girl,” said the policeman, “wake up!” Maida sat up
drowsily, rubbing her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

The policeman grinned knowingly. “Now, you know very well,” he
replied, “that children in Illusia are not allowed to go to sleep till
midnight.”

Maida rubbed her eyes sleepily, and rose to her feet. She said to
herself, “I used to complain at home when they made me go to bed at
dark. Oh, dear! if I could _only_ go to sleep.” She ran after the
policeman, who by this time was walking on, and said to him, “If you
please, sir, how long is it till midnight?”

The policeman looked at her astonished. “You must be a very ignorant
little girl,” he said. “This is New Year’s Eve, which comes on the
Fourth of July here in Illusia, and it won’t be midnight till half-past
December.” So he strolled away.

“Only July!” said Maida, “And I can’t go to sleep till December!” She
thought with regret of that little pink and white bed at home, of the
soft mattress, the downy pillows, and the coverlet she used to pull
up about her chin when she nestled down to rest. Well, there was no
use thinking of something she couldn’t have, so she commenced to walk
about again. Then she realized she was hungry, oh, _very_ hungry! She
passed a shop, over the door of which was a sign reading, “All kinds
of fancy groceries.” So she went in and asked the man if she could buy
something to eat.

“Certainly,” said the shop-keeper, bowing politely, “we have splendid
charlotte russe.”

“Oh, no, nothing sweet,” said Maida. At this moment the shop-keeper’s
clerk approached her, saying:

“Won’t you try a piece of this fine candy?”

“No, I don’t want candy,” answered Maida.

“Ah, I know,” said the shopkeeper, smiling, “I know what you want. We
have some delicious ice-cream, just in.”

“No, no, no!” cried Maida, “I don’t want candy, charlotte russe,
or ice-cream; I want some bread and butter and oatmeal.” But the
shopkeeper and his clerk stared at each other dumbfounded. Maida looked
first at one, then the other, and asked: “Haven’t you anything good to
eat here?”

The shopkeeper replied in astonishment: “Why, certainly, everything a
child can desire--chocolates, and marshmallows, and gum-drops----”

Maida interrupted him--“And no fried chicken or corn bread?” she asked.
The clerk replied: “Now what strange things are these? Certainly not!”
So he and the shop-keeper walked away in high dudgeon, and she went out
of the shop disappointed.

Who should she meet on the pavement but the Candy Kid and
Jack-in-the-Box. They were as glad to find her as she was to meet them,
and it took them all a long time to relate their experiences.

“Have you had a wish?” finally asked Maida.

“No,” replied the Candy Kid, “what do we want a wish for?”

“Will you give me yours?” asked Maida.

“Of course,” the Candy Kid answered, as he began to feel in his pockets
to see if he could find a wish. “I must have had one,” he said,
“because they say everyone has one, but I seem to have lost it.”

“Never mind,” said Maida, “come with me”; and taking each of them by
the hand, she ran, and ran, and ran till she came again to the Wishing
Post. She stood by it, the Candy Kid with his left hand resting on the
mother-of-pearl mast, and said to him, “Now quick, quick, wish that I
am grown up.” So the Candy Kid wished that Maida was grown up, and it
happened. Just like _that_! Oh, it didn’t take a second. Before the
wish had been made she could walk under the Candy Kid’s outstretched
arm, and now she was as tall as he was; but she didn’t have a hangy,
traily gown, the kind that Aunt Mary used to wear; she still wore the
same little dress, which only reached to her knees. “Oh, deah me!” she
said, and my! how different her voice sounded. “What a shocking frock I
have on!”

Jack-in-the-Box saw that she was disturbed. He said, “oh, never mind,
never mind,” and chucked her under the chin. She indignantly boxed his
ears. “How dare you?” she said; “why, the _idea_!” Then she looked
about in dismay.

“Deah me!” she said again, “how very imprudent! Here I have come all
the way to the North Pole, and I’ve no chaperone.”

There’s no doubt about it, Maida was GROWN UP.



Chapter XXII


Well, of course, her plight was rather an odd one. It didn’t seem so
out of the way for a little girl to be travelling about with all these
strange creatures, but for a young lady, a grown-up young lady, to find
herself at the North Pole in company with a couple of eccentric toys,
without proper clothes, and with no chaperone--come to think of it this
was rather a peculiar condition; so Maida walked away from her old
friends, and sat down on the bench to think it over. Jack and the Candy
Kid stared at each other in dismay. The change in Maida simply appalled
them.

“Why she looks different, and acts different, and her voice isn’t at all
the same,” said the Candy Kid. Jack-in-the-Box assented.

“Yes,” he said, “there certainly is a great difference. I liked her
lots better the way she was. This Wishing Post is certainly a very
powerful piece of magic. I think I’ll see what it can do for me,” and
he stretched out his hand. But the Candy Kid leaped forward and pushed
him away. “Don’t you touch it!” he said, “good gracious! just see what
it did to Maida.” So they sat down to think over what should be done.

Now Kankakee and his daughter Kokomo and the Man with the Growly Voice
had left the flying ship early in the morning, and had been wandering
all around the City; so just after the sad transformation of Maida
from a dear little girl to a very pokey young lady they came wandering
into the square. The Man with the Growly Voice was perfectly easy in
his mind, but Kankakee was nervous and anxious. He was afraid that
something might happen.

“I will take my daughter and go back to my people,” he said; and taking
Kokomo by the hand he started to walk away with her. “But why,” asked
the Man with the Growly Voice, “why do you want to go away?”

“Because,” answered Kankakee, “I fear that something may happen.”

“Now, don’t be afraid; I will take care of you,” said the Man with
the Growly Voice. “I won’t let these people hurt you. You know I’m a
wizard. Just see what my climate did.”

“Yes, of course,” said Kankakee, “I had forgotten that you were a
wizard. If danger threatens perhaps you will make the stars fall from
the sky, or shake the earth, or dry up the sea.”

“Why, of course I will,” replied the Man with the Growly Voice, “a
little thing like that wouldn’t bother me.”

So Kankakee took heart and decided to stay; and while the Man with
the Growly Voice and Kokomo strolled about admiring the beauty of the
palaces, he sat in Eskimo fashion, cross-legged on the ground, and
crooned a Polar ditty.

Now the Queen Aurora, having discovered that if she had ever had any
beauty, it was lost, happened to think of the Wishing Post. It had
never occurred to her to wish before. Why should she? Queens have
everything they want, so she had needed no wishes, but now she thought
she would wish for her beauty to return; so she came by stealth to the
Square, accompanied only by a page, to make her wish, for she did not
want her people to know what she was doing.

The first person she met was Kankakee. She gave him a scoldings but
Kankakee paid no attention; he only laughed, and when Aurora threatened
him, he only laughed the more.

“Why, you can’t harm me, I am the friend of the great wizard,” he said
pompously. “He knows all things and makes slaves of certain devils. If
any one harms me, this wizard will pull down the stars, dry up the sea,
and shake the earth. He told me these things himself.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” replied Aurora angrily. “Well, we will see about
that. If I catch anybody fooling with my stars, or shaking my earth, or
drying up my sea, I will have him arrested very quickly, I can promise
you that. Where is this wizard friend of yours?”

Kankakee called the Man with the Growly Voice, who quickly came to
him. Well, the Queen threatened them both with all kinds of horrible
things, but Kankakee felt perfectly easy in his mind.

“Protect me, my friend,” he said, “pull down a star or two, just to
show her what you can do; or shake the earth. You needn’t shake it too
much.” He paused expectantly. “Well, go on; I am waiting,” he said,
“why don’t you shake the earth?”

The Man with the Growly Voice was disgusted. “Kankakee,” he said, “you
talk too much.” Then there was quite a scene. Aurora called some of her
minions, who looked very threatening; Kankakee grew angry, because he
had been deceived; so the Man with the Growly Voice felt very ill at
ease. It happened that he was standing close to the Wishing Post.

“My goodness!” he said, “I wish I was out of this!” And _off_ he flew
into the air, out of sight, before any one could say “Jack Robinson”!



Chapter XXIII


Maida was grown up. There was no doubt about that. She could go
anywhere she liked--she could do anything she chose--but it occurred to
her there wasn’t any place she wanted to go--nor anything she cared to
do. So she yawned.

Her sensations were most peculiar. She could recollect just how she
felt when she was a little girl,--and she realized that she felt very
different since the great change had taken place,--and to be perfectly
frank, she wasn’t sure that she liked the new feeling. Of course, one
always hates to admit one has been wrong or made a mistake. Still--when
one is sure of it--why it’s lots better to come out plump and confess
it at once. Try it yourself next time and see.

Well, it seemed to Maida as she sat there and tried to puzzle it out
that there were two Maidas hidden away in her. One was the little girl
she used to be, who always had such lots of fun and who enjoyed a good
time. A little girl who liked everybody and whom everyone liked, but
this little girl was hidden away down deep out of sight--bound some
way so she couldn’t move. The other Maida was older and wiser, didn’t
care to have a good time--that is, the _old_ kind of a good time--and
was all stiff and starchy;--and really it’s terrible to have to feel
dignified, and to have to do things you don’t care to do just because
people expect them of you.

Of course she made a mistake in not wishing her dress to be grown up
too. Still, she reflected, it wouldn’t take long to set _that_ right
when once she returned home. Home--that was the thing--_how_ was she to
get home?

She realized with great embarrassment--to the new Maida--that for a
grown-up lady to sit about under the North Pole with a lot of strangers
was a most improper proceeding. Did you ever have one of those dreams
in which you found yourself out on the street in a nightie and a fur
cap--or in a ballroom in a bathing-suit? And you couldn’t get away, and
you couldn’t get clothes--my! it was just dreadful!--and you woke up
blushing for shame?--That’s _just_ the way Maida felt.

She didn’t know where the dressmakers lived, and she had no chaperone
nor any place to go and shut herself in and say “not at home” if anyone
called.

Finally she decided to write a letter home asking them to send for
her--so she spoke to a boy who chanced to be passing--one of the very
boys, by the way, who had teased the Page to sell her.

It gave her a most unpleasant sensation to note that her voice sounded
different,--oh, so different; and she also noticed that while she
wanted to be kind and friendly her tone was haughty, and her attitude
severe.

The old Maida, the little girl, would have smiled and asked “Say,
boy, where’s the post-office?” Then the boy would have grinned, and
stood first on one foot, then on the other, and mauled his cap about,
blushing a bit--then he’d have told her.

That’s the way she wanted to speak. That’s what she meant to say. But
_this_ is what the boy heard: “Come here, boy! Is there a post-office
in this outlandish place? If there is, I wish you’d tell me where to
find it.”

And she _had_ to say it that way; she couldn’t help herself.

“Decidedly,” she said to herself (that is the little girl Maida said
’way down deep), “if I had met myself grown up when I was a child--I
would never have wished to be _me_.” This may seem very obscure, but if
you puzzle it out you’ll see it meant just what she thought.

But the boy--well, he was rather naughty. He simply made a face at
her and ran away. Just then Santa Claus bustled up to her with Billy
following him. Both had recovered their clothes and thrown away the old
rags--so Billy looked just as nice and Santa Claus just as jolly and
rubicund as ever.

“Well,” chuckled the sprightly old fellow, “I see you’ve had your wish.”

Maida wanted to be nice--but alas--the “little girl” was hidden down
so deep she just _had_ to step back and look at him coldly, saying,
“Excuse me, I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

How Santa Claus did stare!

So Billy came up to her, his friendly face shining with joy. “Hello!”
he said.

The child Maida was just aching to take his hand, and cling to him, but
before it could happen another cold speech fell from her lips.

“If you wish to converse with me,” she observed haughtily, “please have
some one give you an introduction, for, of course, you understand no
grown-up young lady can speak to a total stranger.”

Think of it! To Billy, too! My goodness, but he was hurt!

“Don’t you know Santa Claus, Maida?” asked the old fellow, greatly
troubled.

She looked at him coldly. “Oh, I know,” she said, “you’re that amusing
old myth I met when I was a little girl, long ago.” (And it did seem
long ago.)

“A myth!” gasped Santa Claus. “Me? Don’t you believe in _me_?”

“You must consider me very unsophisticated,” answered Maida. (And the
big word didn’t bother her a bit now that she was a grown-up.) “You
don’t exist. You couldn’t exist. You’re a figment of the imagination.”

There--it was out! She didn’t believe in Santa Claus! Yet there he
stood before her. Clearly one had to lose much to be grown up.

Poor Billy made one more effort. “Why, you and I used to be such great
friends,” he said, smiling sadly at Maida.

She tossed her head. “That was long ago,” she answered, “when I was a
little girl. Only fancy, I used to like you very much then. So stupid
of me, wasn’t it, for you’re only an apprentice, and, of course, you
don’t move in our set.” How she hated herself, as she said that.

Kokomo approached her, saying something particularly nice in
Eskimo, but Maida waved her aside. “I couldn’t be seen talking to a
squaw--really you know,” she sniffed; then as Kokomo stepped back
staring at her in open-eyed astonishment, she added, “Horrid creatures
Indians, aren’t they? Such a bore----”

“Oh, little girl, hear me,” said Santa Claus, gravely, and his voice
sounded, oh so serious. “Through your lost years listen to Santa Claus,
the children’s friend. Was it for _this_ you gave up your childhood?”

The little Maida was just dancing away down deep inside. “I don’t know
why,” she answered, “but there’s something in your voice that hurts me.
You’re making me cry.” Sure enough, she was crying, and every tear was
washing away a grain of the grown-up Maida.

Then the little girl Maida triumphed and bubbled over. “Save me! Save
me!” she screamed; “I don’t want to be grown up. I can’t have any fun
and people don’t like me. I’m afraid. Oh, somebody, please wish me a
little girl.”

It was many years before Maida was a grown-up lady again.



Chapter XXIV


It was Jack-in-the-Box who did it--her chum and playmate,
Jack-in-the-Box, who had seen the wonderful change with great sorrow,
and who first heard her cry for her childhood. With one bound he
reached the Wishing Post, and presto!--she was a little girl again.

Oh, how good it seemed! She felt so much at home. Her clothes just
suited her, she knew Santa Claus, she liked Billy, she loved her
playmate, Kokomo--oh, she was so happy, so happy.

“It’s awful being grown up,” she sobbed, clinging to Billy. “I’ll want
years and years to even get used to thinking about it.”

“You’ll have years and years,” replied Santa Claus drily, and they all
sat down to talk it over.

None of them saw the White Lady steal into the Square. None of them saw
her approach the Wishing Post and make a wish. But she did. “I wish,”
she said softly--and a beautiful light shone from her eyes, “I wish to
be as warm as he who sought me from the South.” So, of course, she had
her wish, and joined the others to tell them of her good fortune.

While they were discussing this, the Disconsolate Lover ran across the
Square, and--well you can _never_ guess the wish _he_ made. “I wish,”
said he--“to be as cold and icy as she I came North to seek.”

So when the White Lady saw him and took his hand she nearly froze to
death--for they two had simply changed places. They were as badly off
as ever, and not another wish to be had during the year. So the White
Lady sat and wept, and the Disconsolate Lover comforted her as well as
he could--from a distance.

Now the Queen Aurora Borealis had been going about the Square in a
fearfully bad temper, working the red light overtime and scolding her
minions because the Man with the Growly Voice got away. But as she grew
calmer she recollected her errand to the Wishing Post. She meant to
wish for her beauty. Just as she drew near the Post, however, she saw
Kankakee with his arm around little Kokomo, about to make a wish.

“I shall go back to my own people,” he said. “I wish”--but Aurora was
too quick for him.

“I wish you not to have your wish,” she snapped. So, of course, he
didn’t, and there he stood with poor little Kokomo, both of them
looking very foolish.

“Thought you’d get away, eh?” sneered Aurora. “Thought you’d escape.
Well, I’m not done with you yet, my gay and festive Eskimo Chief, and
I will attend to _your_ case after I have recovered my beauty, which I
will now proceed to do. I wish--to have all my beauty back.”

Then she smirked at the minions and said, “Has it happened?” The
expression on their faces told her it had not, and a glance at the
mirror which she still carried assured her of it.

“What’s the matter with this thing?” she shouted angrily pointing at
the Wishing Post.

“Only one wish during each year, your Majesty,” timidly replied a
minion, kneeling at her feet.

My goodness, _how_ she raged!--and _how_ the red light played! Suddenly
her eye lit on Maida and a new idea came to her. “That child is a
witch!” she screamed. “She has stolen my beauty. If she does not return
it, I’ll have her condemned to the Icebergs for life.” (That is just
the same as prison for life down here.) “Give me back my angel face,”
she howled; “give me back my willowy form.”

Maida shrank away in terror, and Kokomo approached the Queen to try and
pacify her. But as soon as Aurora saw Kokomo (and Kokomo was really
pretty you know) she screamed, “You’ve got some of my beauty, too! I’ll
have you fed to the Walrus ‘à la Newburg.’”

[Illustration: They laughed and laughed]

At this dreadful threat Kokomo began to whimper while the minions
started to laugh at her distress. The more she grieved the louder they
laughed; and Aurora looked so funny and so odd, that despite their
anxiety for Kokomo, and their fear about their own plight, all Maida’s
friends, and Maida, too, began to laugh at the Queen.

Kokomo, meanwhile, grew very angry. “I wish you would all laugh and
laugh and never stop,” she said. Then they couldn’t stop laughing--any
of them--because it was a wish. They just _laughed_ and _laughed_ and
_laughed_.

“I’ll have you _all_ fed to the Walrus,” threatened Aurora between her
gasps for breath.

“I shall never see my home again,” laughed Kankakee.

“I think she’ll have us all killed,” giggled Billy, while the White
Lady tittered, “Good-bye forever,” to the Disconsolate Lover.

No matter what they said or how they felt--whether angry or sorry or
afraid--they just had to laugh.

       *       *       *       *       *

Suddenly a great bell tolled on the top of a tower nearby, and an old
man appeared who shouted in a sing-song voice: “_It is now the New
Year. Every one is entitled to one wish._”

Maida started. The New Year! She could have one wish.

Everybody was rushing toward the Wishing Post, but she was nearest, and
she reached it first.

“I wish everything was just as it used to be and I was at home,” she
cried.

       *       *       *       *       *

And she was!



Appendix


Some exceedingly cynical and incredulous people have cast doubt on the
truth of Maida’s story. One of them actually said she slept and dreamed
it all. The idea!

That very day the Man with the Growly Voice came to see Aunt Mary,
and when Maida met him she asked him how he got back. He didn’t just
recollect for a moment, but when she reminded him, he remembered
everything that happened while they were away together.

So _there_ now!

Besides, Aunt Mary took Maida--not so long after that--to a great big
house, like one of the Illusian palaces, where there were wonderful
lights and a band which played beautiful music; then a big picture
rolled up and there was the Toy Shop, and Santa Claus, and Billy; yes,
and Jack-in-the-Box and the Candy Kid, too--even the Bear--all of them.

So she knows it was all true. So do you. _Don’t_ you?

[Illustration]



Transcriber’s Note:

Capitalisation in several instances of “man with the growly voice”
was changed to “Man with the Growley Voice”, see pages 10, 27, 31,
and 35. The following changes were also made:

  Page 22
    “Yes,” So that was settled _changed to_
    “Yes.” So that was settled

  Page 24
    or turn over over and over _changed to_
    or turn over and over

  Page 31
    “just here.” If we weren’t here _changed to_
    “just here. If we weren’t here

  Page 51
    replied Jack-in-the-Box, that’s my _changed to_
    replied Jack-in-the-Box, “that’s my

  Page 96
    a tree----(Now do you know it _is_ rather _changed to_
    a tree----”(Now do you know it _is_ rather

  Page 116
    “Spring has came,” he said _changed to_
    “Spring has come,” he said

  Page 119
    The starboard wing is smashed _changed to_
    “The starboard wing is smashed

  Page 149
    The most wonderful toy you ever saw _changed to_
    “The most wonderful toy you ever saw

  Page 170
    thought Maida, slying peering about _changed to_
    thought Maida, slyly peering about

  Page 171
    and acts diferent, and her voice _changed to_
    and acts different, and her voice

  Page 176
    You needn’t shake it too much. He paused _changed to_
    You needn’t shake it too much.” He paused





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