 Part 4 Chapter 5 of Dr. Doolittle's Post-Office by Hugh Lofting. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part 4 Chapter 5 Obambo's Rebellion. Late that same afternoon the doctor returned to Chief Yam-Yam's village, and with him he took the comorant as well as Dab-Dab and his animals. As he arrived at the little group of straw-houses, he saw that there was some kind of a commotion going on. All the villagers were gathered about the Chief's hut, beaches were being made, and everyone seemed in a great state of excitement. The old Chief himself was standing at the door, and when he saw his friend the doctor approaching on the edge of the crowd, he signaled him to come into the hut. Yes the doctor did, and as soon as he was inside the Chief closed the door and began to tell him what the trouble was. "'Great trials have overtaken me in my old age, O white man,' said he, "'for fifty years I have been head of this tribe, respected, honoured, and obeyed. Now my young son-in-law, Obambo, clamours to be made Chief, and many of the people support him. Bread we have none, food of any kind is scanty, and Obambo tells the tribesmen that the fault is mine, that he, if he is made Chief, will bring them luxury and prosperity. It is not that I am unwilling to give up the Chief's ensign, but I know this young upstart who will take my place means to lead the people into war. What can he do by going to war? Can he fill the people's stomachs? In wars we have always lost. Our neighbours are large peoples, while we are the smallest tribe in all West Africa. So we have been robbed and robbed till now the mothers and children clamour at my door for bread, alas, alas, that I should ever see this day.' The old Chief sank into his chair as he ended and burst out weeping. The doctor went up and patted him on the shoulder. Chief Yam Yam said he, I think I have discovered something today which should make you and your people rich for the remainder of your lives. Go out now and address the tribespeople, promise them in my name, and remind them that I come, recommended by King Coco. Promise them from me that if they will abide peaceably under your rule for another week, the country of Chief Yam Yam will be made famous for its riches and prosperity. Then the old Chief opened the door and made a speech to the clamouring crowd outside. And when he had ended, Obambo, the son-in-law, got up and began another speech calling on the people to drive the old man out into the jungle. But before he had got halfway through, the crowd began to murmur to one another, Let us not listen to this forward young man. It is far better that we abide the white man's promise and see what comes. He is a man of deeds, not words. Did he not put the Amazons to flight with his magic mouse that lives in his pocket? Let aside with the white man and the venerable Yam Yam, who has ruled us with kindness for so long, Obambo would but lead us into war and bring us to greater poverty still. Soon hisses and groans broke out among the people, and picking up pebbles and mud, they began pelting Obambo so he could not go on with his speech. Finally he had to run for the jungle himself to escape the fury of the people. Then when the excitement had died down and the villagers had gone peacefully to their homes, the doctor told the old chief of the wealth that lay waiting for him in the oysters of the harmattan rocks. And the cormorant agreed to oblige John Doolittle by getting a number of his relatives to do pearl fishing for these people who were so badly in need of money and food. And during the next week the doctor paddled the old chief to the rocks twice a day. A great number of oysters were fished up by the cormorants, and the pearls were sorted by the doctor, put in little boxes and sent out to be sold. John Doolittle told the old chief to keep the matter a secret and only to entrust the carrying to reliable men. Soon money began to pour into the country from the pearl fishing business which the doctor had established, and the people were prosperous and had all the food they wanted. By the end of that week the doctor had indeed made good his promise. The country of chief Yem Yem became famous all along the coast of West Africa as a wealthy state. But whenever money is made in large quantities and business is good, there strangers will always come seeking their fortune. And before long the little village that used to be so poor and insignificant was full of traders from the neighboring kingdoms, buying and selling in the crowded busy markets. And of course questions were soon asked as to how this country had suddenly got so rich. And although the chief had carried out the doctor's orders and had only entrusted the secret of the fisheries to a few picked men, folks began to notice that canoes frequently came and went between the Harmutton Rocks and the village of Chief Yem Yem. Then spies from those neighboring countries who had always been robbing and warring upon this land began to sneak around the rocks and canoes. And of course very soon the secret was out. And the emir of Elbubu, who was one of the big powerful traders, called up his army and sent them off and wore canoes to take possession of the Harmutton Rocks. At the same time he made an attack upon the village, drove everybody out, and carrying off the doctor and the chief, he threw them into prison in his own country. Then at last Yem Yem's people had no land left at all. And in the jungle where the frightened villagers had fled to hide, Obambo made whispered speeches to little scattered groups of his father-in-law's people, telling them what fools they had been to trust the crazy white men, instead of listening to him who would have led them to greatness. Now, when the emir of Elbubu had thrown the doctor into prison, he had refused to allow Dab-Dab, Jip or Gub-Gub, to go with him. Jip put up a fight and bit the emir in the leg, but all he got for that was to be tied up on a short chain. The prison into which the doctor was thrown had no windows, and John Doolittle, although he had been in African prisons before, was very unhappy because he was extremely particular about having fresh air. And besides, his hands were firmly tied behind his back with strong rope. Dear me! said he while he was sitting miserably on the floor in the darkness, wondering what on earth he was going to do without any of his animals to help him. What a poor holiday I am spending to be sure! But presently he heard something stirring in his pocket. And to his great delight the white mouse, who had been sleeping soundly and entirely forgotten by the doctor, ran out on his lap. Good luck, cried John Doolittle, you're the very fellow I want. Would you be so good as to run around behind my back and gnaw this beastly rope it's hurting my wrists? Certainly said the white mouse, setting to work at once. Why is it so dark? I haven't slept into the night, have I? No, said the doctor, it's only about noon, I should say. But we're locked up. That stupid old emir of Elbubu made war on Yam-Yam and threw me into jail. Bother it, I always seem to be getting into prison. The worst of it was he wouldn't let Jip or Dab-Dab come with me. I'm particularly annoyed that I haven't got Dab-Dab. I wish I knew some way I could get a message to her. Well, just wait until I have your hands free, said the white mouse, then I'll see what can be done. There, I've bitten through one strand. Now wiggle your hands a bit and you can undo the whole rope. The doctor squirmed his arms and wrists, and presently his hands were free. Thank goodness I had you in my pocket, he said. That was a most uncomfortable position. I wonder what kind of a prison old Yam-Yam got. This is the worst one I was ever in. In the meantime the emir, celebrating victory in his palace, gave orders that the harm-meton rocks, which were now to be called the royal El-Bubu pearl fisheries, would henceforth be his exclusive private property, and no trespassing would be allowed. And he sent out six special men with orders to take over the islands and to bring all the pearls to him. Now the cormorants did not know that war had broken out, nor anything about the doctor's misfortune. And when the emir's men came and took the pearl oysters they had fished up, the birds supposed they were Yam-Yam's men and let them have them. However, it happened luckily that this first load of oysters had only very small and almost worthless pearls in them. Jip and Dab-Dab were still plotting to find some way to reach the doctor, but there seemed to be nothing they could think of. Inside the prison the doctor was swinging his arms to get the siftness out of them. Do you set something about a message you had for Dab-Dab, I think, peep the white mouse's voice from the darkness of the coroner? Yes, said the doctor, and a very urgent one. But I don't see how on earth I'm going to get it to her. This place is made of stone, and the door is frightfully thick. I noticed it as I came in. Don't worry, doctor, I'll get it to her, said the mouse. I've just found an old rat-hole over there in the coroner. I popped down it, and it goes under the wall and comes out by the root of the tree on the other side of the road from the prison. Oh, how splendid, cried the doctor. Give me the message, said the white mouse, and I'll hand it to Dab-Dab before you can say Jack Robinson. She's sitting in the tree where the hole comes out. Tell her, said the doctor, to fly over to the hermeton rocks right away, and give the comrade strict orders to stop all pearl-fishing at once. And he slipped down the rat-hole. Dab-Dab, as soon as she got the message, went straight off to the pearl fisheries and gave the doctor's instructions to the cormorants. She was only just in time, for the Emir's six special men were about to land on the islands to get a second load of pearls. Dab-Dab and the cormorants swiftly threw back into the sea the oysters they had fished up, and when the Emir's men arrived they found nothing. After hanging around a while they paddled back and told the Emir that they could find no more pearl oysters on the rocks. He sent them out to look again, but they returned with the same report. Then the Emir was puzzled and angry. If Yam Yam could get pearls on the hermeton rocks, why couldn't he? And one of his generals said that probably the white man had something to do with it since it was he who had discovered and started the fisheries. So the Emir ordered his hammock men and had himself carried to the doctor's prison. The door was unlocked, and the Emir, going inside, said to the doctor, What monkey business have you done to my pearl fisheries, you white-faced villain? They are not your pearl fisheries, you black-faced ruffian, with the doctor? You stole them from poor O Yam Yam. The pearls were fished far by diving birds, but the birds are honest and will work only for honest people. Why don't you have windows in your prisons? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Then the Emir flew into a terrible passion. How dare you speak to me like that. I am the Emir of El Bubu, he thundered. You are an unscrupulous scoundrel, said the doctor. I don't want to talk to you. If you don't make the birds work for me, I'll give orders that you get no food, said the Emir. You shall be starved to death. I have told you, said the doctor, that I don't desire any further conversation with you. Not a single pearl shall you ever get from the harmattan fisheries. And not a bite to eat shall you ever have till I do, the Emir yelled. Then he turned to the prison guards, gave instructions that the doctor was not to be fed till further orders and stalked out. The door slammed shut with a doleful clang, and after one decent breath of fresh air the doctor was left in the darkness of his stuffy dungeon. CHAPTER VI The Emir of El-Ebubu went back to his palace, feeling perfectly certain that after he had starved John Doolittle for a few days, he would be able to make him do anything he wanted. He gave orders that no water should be served to the prisoner either, so as to make doubly sure that he would be reduced to obedience. But immediately the Emir had left. The white mouse started out through the rat hole in the corner, and all day and all night he kept busy coming and going, bringing in crumbs of food which he had gathered from the houses of the town, bread-crumbs, cheese-crumbs, yam-crumbs, potato-crumbs, and crumbs of meat which he pulled off bones. All these he stored carefully in the doctor's hat in the corner of the prison, and by the end of each day he had collected enough crumbs for one good square meal. The doctor said he never had the slightest idea of what he was eating, but as the mealy mixture was highly digestible and nutritious, he did not see why he should mind. To supply his master with water the mouse got nuts, and after gnawing a tiny hole in one end he would chomp the nut inside into pieces and shake it out through the hole. Then he would fill the empty shell with water and seal up the hole with gum arabic which he got from trees. The water-filled nuts were a little heavy for him to carry, so dab-dab would bring them from the river as far as the outside end of the rat hole, and the white mouse would roll them down the hole into the prison. By getting his friends the village mice to help him in the preparation of these nuts he was able to supply them in hundreds. Then all the doctor had to do when he wanted a drink was to put one in his mouth, crack it with his teeth, and after the cool water had run down his throat spit the broken shells out. The white mouse also provided crumbs of soap so that his master could shave, for the doctor even in prison was always very particular about this part of his appearance. Well, when four days had passed the emir of Elibubu sent a messenger to the prison to inquire if the doctor was now willing to do as he was told. The guards, after talking to John Doolittle, brought word to the emir that the white man was as obstinate as ever and had no intention of giving in. Very well, said the emir, stamping his foot, then let him starve. In ten days more the fool will be dead, then I will come and laugh over him. So perish all wretches who oppose the wishes of the emir of Elibubu. And in ten days time he went to the prison as he had said to gloat over the terrible fate of the white man. Many of his ministers and generals came with him to help him gloat. But when the prison door was opened, instead of seeing the white man's body stretched upon the floor, the emir found the doctor smiling on the threshold, shaved and hearty and all spruced up. The only difference in his appearance was that with no exercise in prison he had grown slightly stouter and rounder. The emir stared at the prisoner open-mouthed, speechless with astonishment. Now, the day before this he had heard for the first time the story of the route of the Amazons. The emir had refused to believe it, but now he began to feel that anything might be true about this man. See! one of the ministers whispered in his ear, the sorcerer has even shaved his beard without water or soap. Your Majesty, there is surely evil magic here. Set the man free before harm befall. Let us be rid of him." And the frightened minister moved back among the crowd so the doctor's evil gaze could not fall upon his face. Then the emir himself began to get panicky, and he gave orders that the doctor should be released right away. I will not leave here, said John Doolittle, standing squarely in the door, till you have windows put in this prison. It's a disgrace to lock anyone in a place without windows. Build windows in the prison at once, the emir said to the guards. And after that I won't go, said the doctor, not till you have set chief yam-yam free, not till you have ordered all your people to leave his country and the Hormattan Rocks, not till you have returned to him the forming lands you robbed him of. It shall be done," muttered the emir, grinding his teeth. Only go. I go, said the doctor. But if you ever molest your neighbors again, I will return. Beware! Then he strode through the prison door out into the sunlit street, while the frightened people fell back on either side and covered their faces, whispering, Magic, do not let his eye fall on you! And in the doctor's pocket the white mouse had to put his paws over his face to keep from laughing. And now the doctor set out with his animals and the old chief to return to yam-yam's country from the land where he had been imprisoned. On the way they kept meeting with groups of the chief's people who were still hiding in the jungle. These were told the glad tidings of the emir's promise. When they learned that their land was now free and safe again, the people joined the doctor's party for their return journey. And long before he came inside of the village, John Doolittle looked like a conquering general coming back at the head of an army so many had gathered to him on the way. That night grand celebrations were made in the chief's village and the doctor was hailed by the people as the greatest man who had ever visited their land. Two of their worst enemies need now no longer be feared. The emir had been bound over by a promise and Dahomey was not likely to bother them again after the fright the Amazons got on their last attack. The pearl fisheries were restored to their possession. The country should now proceed prosperously and happily. The next day the doctor went out to the Hermatin rocks to visit the cormorants and to thank them for the help they had given. The old chief came along on this trip and with him four trustworthy men of his in order that there should be no mistake in future. These men were shown to the cormorants and the birds were told to supply them and no others with pearl oysters. While the doctor and his party were out at the rocks, an oyster was fished up that contained an enormous and very beautiful pearl by far the biggest and handsomest yet found. It was perfect in shape, flawless and a most unusual shade in color. After making a little speech the chief presented this pearl to the doctor as a small return for the services he had done him and his people. Thank goodness for that, dab-dab whispered to Jip. Do you realize what that pearl means to us? The doctor was down to his last shilling as poor as a church mouse. We should have had to go circus-traveling with the push-me-pull you again if it hadn't been for this. I am so glad. For my part I shall be glad enough to stay at home and settle down a while once we get there. Oh, I don't know, said Gub-Gub. I love circuses. I wouldn't mind traveling so long as it's in England and with the circus. Well, said Jip, whatever happens it's nice the doctor got the pearl. He always seemed to be in need of money and, as you say, dab-dab, that should make anybody rich for life. But while the doctor was still thanking the chief for the beautiful present, Quip the carrier flew up with a letter for him. It was marked urgent in red letter, doctor, said the swallow, so speedy thought he had better send it to you by special delivery. John Doolittle tore open the envelope. Who's it from, doctor? asked dab-dab. Dear me, muttered the doctor reading, it's from that farmer in Lincolnshire, whose Brussels sprouts we imported for Gub-Gub. I forgot to answer his letter. You remember? He wrote asking me if I could tell him what the trouble was. And I was so busy it went clean out of my mind. Dear me, I must pay the poor fellow back somehow. I wonder. Oh, but there's this, I can send him the pearl. That will pay for his sprouts and something to spare. What a good idea! And to dab-dab's horror, the doctor tore a clean piece off the farmer's letter, scribbled a reply, wrapped the pearl up in it, and handed it to the swallow. Oh, speedy, said he, to send that off right away, registered. I am returning to Fanteepo to-morrow. Good-bye and thank you for the special delivery. As quip the carrier disappeared into the distance with the doctor's priceless pearl, dab-dab turned to Jip and muttered, there goes the Doolittle fortune, my, but it is marvellous how money doesn't stick to that man's fingers. Hi-ho, side-jip, it's circus for us all right. Easy-comes, easy-goes, murmured gub-gub, never mind. I don't suppose it's really such fun being rich. Wealthy people have to behave so unnaturally. End of Part 4, Chapter 6. Part 4, Chapter 7 of Dr. Doolittle's Post Office by Hugh Lofting. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part 4, Chapter 7. A Mysterious Letter. We are now come to an unusual event in the history of the doctor's post office, to the one which was, perhaps, the greatest of all the curious things that came about through the institution of the swallow-male. On arriving back at the houseboat from his short and very busy holiday, the doctor was greeted jorfily by the push-me-pull-you-tutu, deep-side and speedy the skimmer. King Coco also came out to greet his friend when he saw the arrival of the doctor's canoe through a pair of opera glasses, priced in shillings and sixpence, which he had recently got from London by parcel post. And the prominent Phantippians, who had missed their afternoon tea and social gossip terribly during the postmaster's absence, got into their canoes and followed the king out to the foreign mail's office. So for three hours after his arrival, in fact, until it was dark, the doctor did not get a chance to do a thing beside shake hands and answer questions about how he had enjoyed his holiday, where he had been and what he had done. The welcome he received on his return and the sight of the comfortable houseboat, gay with flowering window-boxes, made the doctor, as he afterwards said to Dab-Dab, feel as though he were really coming home. That's true, said the doctor. I suppose I must be getting on to England soon, but the Phantippians were honestly pleased to see us, weren't they? And after all, Africa is a nice country now, isn't it? Yes, said Dab-Dab, a nice enough country for short holidays and long drinks. After supper had been served and eaten, and the doctor had been made to tell the story of the pearl fisheries all over again for the benefit of his own family circle, he at last turned to the enormous pile of letters which were waiting for him. They came, as usual, from all parts of the world, from every conceivable kind of animal and bird. For hours he waited patiently through them, answering them as they came. Speedy acted as his secretary and took down in bird and animal scribble the answers that the doctors reeled off by the dozen. Often John Doolittle dictated so fast that the poor skimmer had to get Tutu, who had a wonderful memory, to come and help listen, so nothing should be missed through not writing it down quick enough. Toward the end of the pile the doctor came across a very peculiar thick envelope all over mud. For a long time none of them could make out a single word of the letter inside, not even who it was from. The doctor got all his notebooks out of the safe, cared and peered and poured over the writing for hours. Mud had been used for ink. The signs were made so clumsily they might almost be anything. But at last, after a tremendous lot of work, copying out a fresh, guessing and discussing, the meaning of the extraordinary letter was pieced together, and this is what it said. Dear Dr. Doolittle, I have heard of your post office, and in writing this as best I can, the first letter I ever wrote, I hear you have a weather bureau in connection with your post office, and that a one-eyed albatross is your chief weather prophet. I am writing to tell you that I am the oldest weather prophet in the world. I prophesied the flood, and it came true to the day and the hour. I said it would. I am a very slow walker, or I would come and see you, and perhaps you could do something for my gout, which in the last few hundred years has bothered me a good deal. But if you will come to see me, I will teach you a lot about weather, and I will tell you the story of the flood, which I saw with my own eyes from the deck of Noah's Ark. Yours very truly, mud face. P.S. I am a turtle. At last, on reading the muddy message through, the doctor's excitement and enthusiasm knew no bounds. He began at once to make arrangements to leave the following day for a visit to the turtle. But alas, when he turned again to the letter to see where the turtle lived, he could find nothing to give a clue to his whereabouts. The mysterious writer who had seen the flood, Noah and the Ark, had forgotten to give his address. Look here, speedy, said John Doolittle. We must try and trace this. Let us leave no stone unturned to find where this valuable document came from. First, we will question everyone in the post office to find out who it was delivered it. Well, everyone in turn, the push me pull you, cheap side, do to, quip the carrier, all the swallows, any stray birds who were living in the neighborhood, even a pair of rats who had taken up their residence in the houseboat, were cross-examined by the doctor or speedy. But no one had seen the letter arrive. No one could tell what day or hour it had come. No one could guess how it got into the pile of the doctor's mails. No one knew anything about it. It was one of those little post office mysteries that are always cropping up even in the best-run mail systems. The doctor was positively heartbroken. Often in his natural history meditations, he had wondered about all sorts of different matters connected with the Ark, and he had decided that Noah, after his memorable voyage was over, must have been a great naturalist. Now had come, most unexpectedly, a chance to hear the great story from an eyewitness from someone who had actually known and sailed with Noah, and just because of a silly little slip like leaving out an address, the great chance was to be lost. All attempts to trace the writer having failed. The doctor, after two days, gave it up and went back to his regular work. This kept him so busy for the next week that he finally forgot all about the turtle and his mysterious letter. But one night, when he was working late to catch up with the business which had multiplied during his absence, he heard a gentle tapping on the houseboat window. He left his desk and went and opened it. Instantly in popped the head of an enormous snake with a letter in its mouth. A thick, muddy letter. Great heavens! cried the doctor. What a start you gave me! Come in, come in, and make yourself at home. Slowly and smoothly the snake slid in over the window sill and down onto the floor of the houseboat. Yards and yards and more yards long he came, carling himself up neatly at John Doolittle's feet like a mooring rope on a ship deck. Pardon me, but is there much more of you outside still? asked the doctor. Yes, said the snake. Only half of me is in yet. Then I'll open the door, said the doctor, so you can coil part of yourself in the passage. This room is a bit small. When at last the great serpent was all in, his thick coils entirely covered the floor of the doctor's office and a good part of him overflowed into the passage outside. Now, said the doctor, closing the window, what can I do for you? I've brought you this letter, said the snake. It's from the turtle. He is wondering why he got no answer to his first. But he gave me no address, said John Doolittle, taking the muddy envelope from the serpent. I've been trying my hardest ever since to find out where he lived. Oh, was that it? said the snake. Well, oh, mud-faced isn't much of a letter, writer. I suppose he didn't know he had to give his address. I'm awfully glad to hear from him again, said the doctor. I had given up all hope of ever seeing him. You can show me how to get to him? Why, certainly, said the big serpent. I live in the same lake as he does. Lake Junganyika. You're a water snake, then I take it, said the doctor. Yes. You look rather worn out from your journey. Is there anything I can get you? I'd like a saucer of milk, said the snake. I only have wild goats milk, said John Doolittle, but it's quite fresh. And he went out into the kitchen and woke up the housekeeper. What do you think, dab, dab? He said, breathless with excitement. I've got a second letter from the turtle, and the messenger is going to take us to see him. When dab, dab, entered the postmaster's office with the milk, she found John Doolittle reading the letter. Looking at the floor, she gave a squawk of disgust. It's a good thing for you, Sarah isn't here, she cried. Look at the state of your office. It's full of snake. CHAPTER VIII The land of the mangrove swamps. It was a long but a most interesting journey that the doctor took from Fantipo to Lake Jonganyika. It turned out that the turtle's home lay many miles inland in the heart of one of the wildest, most jungly parts of Africa. The doctor decided to leave Gub-Gub home this time, and he took with him only Jip, Dab-Dab, Tutu, and Cheapside, who said he wanted a holiday, and that his sparrow friends could now quite well carry on the city deliveries in his absence. The Great Water Snake began by taking the doctor's party down the coast south for some forty or fifty miles. There they left the sea, entered the mouth of a river, and started to journey inland. The canoe, with the snake swimming alongside it, was quite the best thing for this kind of travel so long as the river had water in it, but presently, as they went up it, the stream grew narrower and narrower. Till it last, like many rivers in tropical countries, it was nothing more than the dry bed of a brook or a chain of small pools with long sandbars between. Overhead the thick jungle arched and hung like a tunnel of green. This was a good thing by daytime as it kept the sun off better than a parasol. End of the dry stretches of river bed, where the doctor had to carry or drag the canoe on homemade runners, the work was hard and shade was something to be grateful for. At the end of the first day, John Doolittle wanted to leave the canoe in a safe place and finish the trip on foot, but the snake said they would need it further on, where there was more water and many swamps to cross, as they went forward the jungle around them seemed to grow thicker and thicker all the time, but there was always this clear alleyway along the river bed. And though the stream's course did much winding and twisting, the going was good. The doctor saw a great deal of new country, trees he had never met before, gay-colored orchids, butterflies, ferns, birds and rare monkeys. So his notebook was kept busy all the time with sketching and jotting and adding to his already great knowledge of natural history. On the third day of travel this river bed led them into an entirely new and different kind of country. If you have never been in a mangrove swamp, it is difficult to imagine what it looks like. It was mournful scenery, flat bog land, full of pools and streamlets, dotted with tufts of grass and weed, tangled with gnarled roots and brambling bushes, spread out from miles and miles in every direction. It reminded the doctor of some huge shrubbery that had been flooded by heavy rains. No large trees were here such as they had seen in the jungle lower down. Seven or eight feet above their heads was as high as the mangroves grew, and from their thin boughs long streamers of moss hung like gray, fluttering rags. The life, too, about them was quite different. The gayly-colored birds of the true forest did not care for this damp country of half water and half land. Instead, all manner of swamp birds, big build and long necked for the most part, peered at them from the sprawling saplings. Many kinds of herons, egrets, ibises, grebes, bitterns, even stately anhingas, who can fly beneath the water, were wading in the swamp or nesting on the little, toughy islands, in and out of the holes about the gnarled roots, strange and wondrous water-creatures, things half fish and half lizard, scuttled and quarreled with brightly-colored crabs. For many folks it would have seemed a creepy, night-mary sort of country, this land of the mangrove swamps. But to the doctor, for whom any kind of animal life was always companionable and good-intentioned, it was a most delightful new field of exploration. They were glad, now, that the snake had not allowed them to leave the canoe behind. For here, where every step you took you were liable to sink down in the mud up to your waist, Jip and the doctor would have had hard work to get along at all without it. And even with it the going was slow and hard enough. The mangrove spread out long, twisting, crossing arms in every direction to bore your passage, as though they were determined to guard the secrets of this silent, gloomy land where men could not make a home and seldom ever came. Indeed, if it had not been for the giant water-snake to whom men grow swamps where the easiest kind of traveling, they would never have been able to make their way forward. But their guide went on ahead of them for hundreds of yards to lead the way through the best openings and to find the passages where the water was deep enough to float a canoe. And although his head was out of sight most of the time, in the tangled distance, he kept, in the worst stretches, a firm hold on the canoe by taking a turn about the bow post with his tail. And whenever they were stuck in the mud, he would contract that long, muscular body of his with a jerk and yank the canoe forward as though it had been no more than a can tied on the end of a string. Dab-dab, tutu and cheapside did not, of course, bother to sit in the canoe. They found flying from tree to tree a much easier way to travel. But in one of those jerky pulls which the state gave on his living toline, the doctor and ship were left sitting in the mud as the canoe was actually yanked from under them. This so much amused the vulgar cheapside, who was perched in a mangrove tree above their heads, that he suddenly broke the solemn silence of the swamp by bursting into noisy laughter. Lord, bless us, doctor, but you do get yourself into some comical situations. Who would think to see John do little, M.D., him in its position of puddle beyond the marsh, being pulled through a mud swamp in darkest Africa by a couple under-yards of fat worm? You've no idea how funny you look. Oh, close your silly face, growl-jip, black mud from head to foot scrambling back into the canoe. It's easy for you. You can fly through the mess. It'd make a nice football ground this, murmur cheapside. I'm surprised the Africans haven't took to it. I didn't know there was this much mud anywhere outside of Hampstead Heath after a wet bank holiday. I wonder when we're going to get there. Seems to me we're coming to the end of the world, or the middle of it. Haven't seen a woman face since we left the shore. He's an exclusive kind of genar, Mr. Turtle, ain't he? Myself? I wouldn't be surprised if we ran into old Noah sitting on the wreck of the hark any minute. Helped the doctor up-chip. Look, he's got his chin caught under a root. The snake, hearing cheapsides chatter, thought something must be wrong. He turned his head in the round and came back to see what the matter was. Then a short halt was made in the journey, while the doctor and chip cleaned themselves up, and the precious notebooks, which had also been jerked out into the mud, were rescued and stowed in a safe place. Do no people at all live in these ports? the doctor asked the snake. None, whatever, said the guide. We left the lands where Mindwell behind us long ago. Nobody can live in these bogs but swamp birds, marsh creatures, and water snakes. How much further have we got to go? asked the doctor, rinsing the mud off his hat in a pool. About one more day's journey, said the snake. A wide belt of these swamps surrounds the secret lake of Jung and Yicca on all sides. The gond will become freer as we approach the open water of the lake. We are really on the shores of it already, then. Yes, said the serpent. But properly speaking, the secret lake cannot be said to have shores at all, or certainly, as you see, no shores where a man can stand. Why do you call it the secret lake, asked the doctor? Because it has never been visited by man since the flood, said the giant reptile. You will be the first to see it. We who live in it boast that we bathed daily in the original water of the flood, for before the forty days rain came it was not there, they say, but when the flood passed away this part of the world never dried up, and so it has remained guarded by these wide mangrove swamps ever since. What was here before the flood then, asked the doctor? They say rolling fertile country waving corn and sunny hilltops, the snake replied. That is what I have heard. I was not there to see it. Mud-faced the turtle will tell you all about it. How wonderful, exclaimed the doctor. Let's push on. I am most anxious to see him and the secret lake. End of Part 4, Chapter 8. Part 4, Chapter 9 of Dr. Doolittle's Post Office by Hugh Lofting. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part 4, Chapter 9, The Secret Lake. During the course of the next day's travel, the country became as the snake had foretold, freer and more open. Little by little the islands grew fewer and the mangroves not so tangly. In the dreary views there was less land and more water. The going was much easier now, for miles had a stretch the doctor could paddle without the help of his guide and water that seemed to be quite deep. It was indeed a change to be able to look up and see a clear sky overhead once in a while instead of that everlasting network of swamp trees. Across the heavens the travelers now occasionally saw flights of wild ducks and geese swinging their way eastward. That's the sign we're near open water, said Dab Dab. Yes, the snake agreed. They're going to Junk and Yeekah. It is the feeding ground of great flocks of wild geese. It was about five o'clock in the evening when they came to the end of the little islands and mudbanks. And as the canoes, nose glided easily forward into entirely open water, they suddenly found themselves looking across a great inland sea. The doctor was tremendously impressed by his first sight of the secret lake. If the landscape of the swamp country had been mournful, this was even more so. No eye could see across it. The edge of it was like the oceans, just a line where the heavens and the water meet. Ahead to the eastward, the darkest part of the evening sky, even this line barely showed. For now the murky waters and the frowny night blurred together in an inky mass. To the right and left, the doctor could see the fringe of the swamp trees running around the lake, disappearing in the distance north and south. Out in the open, great banks of gray mist rolled and joined and separated as the wailing wind pushed them fretfully hither and thither over the face of the waters. My word, the doctor murmured in a quiet voice. Here one could almost believe that the flood was not over yet. Jolly place, ain't it? Came Cheapside's cheeky voice from the stern of the canoe. Give me London any day in the worst fog ever. This is a blooming eels country. Look at the mist shadows skating around the lake. Mike Biel, Noah and his family playing ring-a-ring-a-rosy in their night-shirts, they had that lifelike. The mists are always there, said the snake. Always have been. In them the first rainbow shone. Well, said the sparrow, I'd sell the whole place cheap if it was mine, mists and all. How many hundred miles of this bonny blue ocean have we got to cross before we reach our Mr. Mudface? Not very many, said the snake. He lives on the edge of the lake a few miles to the north. Let us hurry and try to reach his home before darkness falls. Once more with the guide in front, but this time at a much better pace, the party set off. As the light grew dimmer, the calls of several night-birds sounded from the mangroves on the left. Tutu told the doctor that many of these were owls, but of kinds that he had never seen or met with before. Yes, said the doctor, I imagine there are lots of different kinds of birds and beasts in these parts that could be found nowhere else in the world. At last, while it was still just light enough to see, the snake swung into the left and once more entered the outskirts of the mangrove swamps. Following him was difficult in the fading light. The doctor was led into a deep, laddy cove. At the end of this the nose of the canoe suddenly bumped into something hard. The doctor was about to lean out to see what it was when a deep, deep bass voice spoke out of the gloom quite close to him. Welcome, John Doolittle. Welcome to Lake Jonganika. Then, looking up, the doctor saw on a mound-like island the shape of an enormous turtle, fully 12 feet across the shell, standing outlined against the blue-black sky. The long journey was over at last. Dr. Doolittle did not at any time believe in travelling with very much baggage, and all that he had brought with him on this journey was a few things rolled up in a blanket, and, of course, the little black medicine bag. Among these things, luckily, however, were a couple of candles, and if it had not been for them he would have had hard work to land safely from his canoe. Getting them lighted in the wind that swept across the lake was no easy matter, but to protect their flame, two-two wove a couple of little lanterns out of thin leaves, throughest the light shone dimly green, but bright enough to see your way by. To his surprise, the doctor found that the mound or island on which the turtle lived was not made of mud, though muddy footprints could be seen all over it. It was made of stone, of stones cut square with a chisel. While the doctor was examining them with great curiosity the turtle said, These are the ruins of a city. I used to be content to live and sleep in the mud, but since my gout has been so bad I thought I ought to make myself something solid and dry to rest on. Those stones are pieces of a king's house. Pieces of a house? Of a city? The doctor exclaimed, peering into the wet and desolate darkness that surrounded the little island. But where did they come from? From the bottom of the lake, said the turtle, out there. Mud-faced knotted toward the gloomy, wide-stretching waters. There stood, thousands of years ago, the beautiful city of Shalba. Don't I know when for long enough I lived in it? Since it was the greatest and fairest city ever raised by men, and King Mush-two of Shalba, the proudest monarch in the world. Now I, mud-faced the turtle, make a nest in the swamp out of the ruins of his palace. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! But that belongs to the story of the flood. You have come far, you must be weary and in need of food. Well, said the doctor, I am most anxious to hear the story. Does it take long to tell? About three weeks would be my guess, whispered cheap side. Turtles do everything slow. Something tells me that story is the longest story in the world, doctor. Let's get a nap and a bite to eat first. We can hear it just as well tomorrow. So in spite of John Doolittle's impatience the story was put off till the following day. For the evening meal Dab-Dab managed to scout around and gather together quite a nice mess of freshwater shellfish, and two-two collected some marsh berries that did very well for dessert. Then came the problem of how to sleep. This was not so easy, because although the foundations of the Turtles Mound were of stone, there was hardly a dry spot on the island left where you could lie down. The doctor tried the canoe, but it was sort of cramped and uncomfortable for sleeping, and now even there too the mud had been carried by Dab-Dab's feet and his own. In this country the great problem was getting away from the mud. When Noah's family first came out of the ark, said the Turtles, they slept in little beds which they strung up between the stumps of the drowned trees. Ah, hammocks, cried the doctor. Of course the very thing. Then with Jips and Dab-Dab's help he constructed a very comfortable basketwork hammock out of Willowands and fastened it between two larger mangroves. Into this he climbed and drew the blanket over him. Although the trees leaned down toward the water with his weight, they were quite strong and their bendiness acted like good betsprings. The moon had now risen and the weird scenery of Jung-Kanyeke was all green lights and blue shadows. As the doctor snuffed out his candles and Jip curled himself up at his feet, the turtle suddenly started humming a tune in his deep bass voice, waving his long neck from side to side in the moonlight. What is that tune you are humming? asked the doctor. That's the Elephant's March, said the turtle. They always played it at the royal circus of Shalba for the Elephant's procession. Let's open as in many verses, grumbled Cheapside sleepily putting his head under his wing. The sun had not yet risen on the gloomy waters of Lake Jung-Kanyeke before Jip felt the doctor stirring in his hammock preparing to get up. Presently, Dab-Dab could be heard messing about in the mud below, bravely trying to get breakfast ready under difficult conditions. Just Cheapside, grumbling in a sleepy chirp, brought his head out from under his wing, gave the muddy scenery one look and popped it back again. But it was of little use to try to get more sleep now. The camp was a stir. John Doolittle, bent on the one idea of hearing the story, had already swung himself out of his hammock and was now washing his face noisily in the lake. Cheapside shook his feathers, swore a few words in cockney, and flew off his tree down to the doctor's side. "'Look here, doctor,' he whispered, "'this ain't an awesome place to stay at all. I'm all full of cramp from the damp night air. You'd get web-footed if you loitered in this country long. Listen, you want to be careful about getting old mud-faced started on his yarn-spinning. Do you know what he reminds me of? Oh, cry me a war, veterans. Once they begin telling their reminiscences, there's no stopping them. He looks like one, too, with that long, scrawny neck he is. Tell him to make it short and sweet, just to give us the outline of his troubles, like, see? The sooner we can shake the mud off this place off our feet and make tracks for Fantipo, the better it'll be for all of us." Well, when breakfast had been disposed of, the doctor sharpened his pencil, got out a notebook, and, telling Tutu to listen carefully in case he should miss anything, he asked the turtle to begin the story of the flood. Cheapside had been right. Although it did not take a fortnight to tell, it did take a very full day. Slowly and evenly the sun rose out of the east, passed across the heavens and sank down into the west. And still Mudface went murmuring on, telling of all the wonders he had seen in days long ago, while the doctor's pencil wiggled untiringly over the pages of his notebook. The only interruptions were when the turtle paused to lean down and moisten his long throat with the muddy water of the lake, or when the doctor stopped him to ask a question on the natural history of anti-Diluvian times. Dab-dab prepared lunch and supper and served them as silently as she could, so as not to interrupt. But for the doctor they were very scrappy meals. On into the night the story went. And now John Doolittle wrote by candle-light, while all his pets, with the exception of Tutu, were already nodding or dozing. At last, about half past ten, to Cheapside's great relief, the turtle pronounced the final words. In that, John Doolittle is the end of the story of the flood by one who saw it with his own eyes. For some time after the turtle finished, no one spoke. Even the irreverent Cheapside was silent. Little bits of stars dimmed by the light of a half-full moon twinkled like tiny eyes in the dim blue dome that arched over the lake. Away, off somewhere among the tangled mangroves, an owl hooted from the swamp, and Tutu turned his head quickly to listen. Dab-dab, the economical housekeeper, seeing the doctor close his notebook and put away his pencil, blew out the candle. At last the doctor spoke. Mudface, I don't know when in all my life I have listened to a story that interested me so much, I am glad I came. I am glad too, John Doolittle. You are the only one in the world now who understands the speech of animals, and if you had not come, my story of the flood could not have been told. I am getting very old, and do not ever move far away from Young Ganyika. Would it be too much to ask you, said the doctor, to get me some souvenir from the city below the lake? Not at all, said the turtle. I'll go down and try to get you something right away. Slowly and smoothly, like some unbelievable monster of former days, the turtle moved his great bulk across his little island and slid himself into the lake without splashing or disturbance of any kind. Only a gentle swirling of the water showed where he had disappeared. In silence they all waited, the animals now for the moment reawakened and full of interest. The doctor had visions of his enormous friend moving through the slime of sentries at the bottom of the lake, hunting for some souvenir of the great civilization that passed away with the flood. He hoped that he would bring a book or something with writing on it. Instead when at last he reappeared, wet and shining in the moonlight, he had a carved stone window sill on his back which must have weighed over a ton. Lord bless us, mother cheapside. What a wonderful piano mover he would make, to be sure. Great Carter Patterson, does he think the doctor's going to hang down on his watch chain? It was the lightest thing I could find, said the turtle, rolling it off his back with a thud that shook the island. I had hoped I could get a vase or a plate or something you could carry, but all the smaller objects are now covered in fathoms of mud. This I broke off from the second story of the palace, from the queen's bedroom window. I thought perhaps you'd like to see it, anyway, even if it was too much for you to carry home. It's beautifully carved. Wait till I wash some of the mud off it. The candles were lighted again, and after the carvings had been cleaned, the doctor examined them with great care and even made sketches of some of them in his notebook. By the time the doctor had done all his party accepting Tutu had fallen asleep. It was only when he heard Jip suddenly snore from the hammock that he realized how late it was. As he blew out the candles again he found that it was very dark, for now the moon had set. He climbed into bed and drew the blankets over him. End of Part IV, CHAPTER IX. Part IV, CHAPTER X. THE POST MASTER GENERAL'S LAST ARTER. When Dab-Dab roused the party next morning, the sun was shining through the mist upon the lake, doing its best to brighten up the desolate scenery around them. Poor Mudface awoke with an acute attack of gout. He had not been bothered by this ailment since the doctor's arrival, but now he could scarcely move at all without great pain. And Dab-Dab brought his breakfast to him where he lay. John Doolittle was inclined to blame himself for having asked him to go hunting in the lake for souvenirs the night before. I'm afraid that was what brought on the attack, said the doctor, getting out his little black bag from the canoe and mixing some medicines. But you know you really ought to move out of this damned country to some drier climate. I'm aware that turtles can stand an awful lot of wet, but at your age one must be careful, you know. There isn't any other place I like as well, said Mudface. So hard to find a country where you're not disturbed these days. Here, drink this, the doctor ordered, handing him a teacup full of some brown mixture. I think you will find that will soon relieve the stiffness in your front legs. D-Turtle drank it down. And in a minute or two he said he felt much better and could now move his legs freely without pain. It's wonderful medicine that, said he. You are surely a great doctor. Have you got any more of it? I will make up several bottles of the mixture and leave them with you before I go, said John Doolittle. But you really ought to get on high ground somewhere. This muddy little hammock is no place for you to live. Isn't there a regular island in the lake where you could make your home, if you're determined not to leave the Junkanyika country? No, not one, said the turtle. It's all like this, just miles and miles of mud and water. I used to like it. In fact, I do still. I wouldn't wish for anything better if it weren't for this wretched gout of mine. Well, said the doctor. If you haven't got an island, we must make one for you. Make one? cried the turtle. How would you go about it? I'll show you very shortly, said John Doolittle, and he called cheap side to him. Will you please fly down to Fantepo, he said to the city manager, and give this message to speedy the skimmer, and ask him to send it out to all the postmasters of the branch offices. The swallow mail is very shortly to be closed at all events for a considerable time. I must now be returning to Puttleby, and it will be impossible for me to continue the service in its present form after I have left No Man's Land. I wish to convey my thanks to all the birds, postmasters, clerks, and letter carriers who have so generously helped me in this work. The last favor which I'm going to ask of them is a large one, and I hope they will give me their united support in it. I want them to build me an island in the middle of Lake Joan Caneca. It is for much-faced the turtle, the oldest animal living who in days gone by did a very great deal for man and beast, for the whole world, in fact, when the earth was passing through the darkest chapters in all its history. Tell speedy to send word to all bird leaders throughout the world. Tell him I want as many birds as possible right away to build a healthy home where this brave turtle may end his long life and peace. It is the last thing I ask of the post office staff, and I hope they will do their best for me. Cheapside said that the message was so long he was afraid he would never be able to remember it by heart. So John Doolittle told him to take it down in bird scribble, and he dictated it to him all over again. That letter, the last circular order issued by the great postmaster general to the staff of the Swallow's Mail, was treasured by Cheapside for many years. He hid it under his untidy nest in St. Edmunds, left here on the south side of the Chapel of St. Paul's Cathedral. He always hoped that the pigeons who lived in the front porch of the British Museum would someday get it into the museum for him. But one gusty morning, when men were cleaning the outside of the cathedral, it got blown out of St. Edmunds' ear, and before Cheapside could overtake it, it sailed over the housetops into the river and sank. The sparrow got back to Jungen Eke late that afternoon. He reported that Speedy had immediately, on receiving the doctor's message, forwarded it to the postmasters of the branch officers, with orders to pass it on to all the bird leaders everywhere. It was expected that the first birds would begin to arrive here early the following morning. It was Speedy himself who woke the doctor at dawn the next day, and while breakfast was being eaten, he explained to John Doolittle the arrangements that had been made. The work, the skimmer calculated, would take three days. All birds had been ordered to pick up a stone or a pebble or a pinch of sand from the seashore on their way, and bring it with them. The larger birds, who would carry stones, were to come first, then the middle-sized birds, and then the little ones with sand. Soon, when the sky over the lake was beginning to fill up with circling usperies, herons, and albatrosses, Speedy left the doctor and flew off to join them. There taking up a position in the sky right over the center of the lake, he hovered motionless as a marker for the stone-droppers. Then the work began. All day long, a never-ending stream of big birds, a dozen abreast, flew up from the sea and headed across Lake Junk and Yeka. The line was like a solid black ribbon, the birds dense, packed and close, beak to tail, and as each dozen reached the spot where Speedy hovered, twelve stones dropped into the water. The procession was so continuous and unbroken that it looked as though the sky were raining stones, and the constant roar of them splashing into the water out of the heavens could be heard a mile off. The lake in the center was quite deep, and, of course, tons and tons of stone would have to be dropped before the new island would begin to show above the water surface. This gathering of birds was greater even than the one that the doctor had addressed in the hollows of No Man's Land. It was the biggest gathering of birds that had ever been seen. For now not only the leaders came, but thousands and millions of every species. John Doolittle got tremendously excited, and, jumping into his canoe, he started to paddle out nearer to the work. But Speedy grew impatient that the top of the stone pile was not yet showing above the water, and he gave the order to double up the line, then double it again as still more birds came to help from different parts of the world, and soon, with a thousand stones falling every fraction of a second, the lake got so rough that the doctor had to put back for the turtle's hammock lest his canoe capsize. All that day, all that night, and half the next day, this continued. At last, about noon on the morrow, the sound of the falling stones began to change. The great mound of seething white water, like a fountain in the middle of the lake, disappeared, and in its place a black spot showed. The noise of splashing changed to the noise of stone rattling on stone. The top of the island had begun to show. It's like the mountains peeping out after the flood, mud-face muttered to the doctor. Then Speedy gave the order for the middle-sized birds to join in, and soon the note of the noise changed again, shriller, as tons and tons of pebbles and gravel began to join the downpour. Another night and another day went by, and at dawn the gallant skimmer came down to rest his weary wings, for the workers did not need a marker any longer, now that a good-sized island stood out on the bottom of the lake for the birds to drop their burdens on. Bigger and bigger grew the homemade land, and soon mud-faces' new estate was acres wide. Still another order from Speedy, and presently the rattling noise changed to a gentle hiss. The sky was now simply black with birds. The pebble-shower had ceased. It was raining sand. First of all the birds brought seeds, grass seeds, the seeds of flowers, acorns, and the kernels of palms. The turtles' new home was to be provided with turf, with wild gardens, with shady avenues to keep off the African sun. When Speedy came to the hummock and said, Doctor, it's finished. Mud-faced gazed thoughtfully out into the lake and murmured, Now proud Shalba is buried indeed. She has an island for a tombstone. It's a grand home you have given me, John Doolittle. Alas, poor Shalba. Mush to the king passes, but Mud-faced the turtle lives on. End of Part 4, Chapter 10 Part 4, Chapter 11 of Doctor Doolittle's Post Office by Hugh Loughning. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part 4, Chapter 11, The Last Chapter, Goodbye to Fantipo. Mud-faced's landing on his new home was quite an occasion. The Doctor paddled out alongside him till they reached the island. Although he set foot on it, John Doolittle himself had not realized what a large piece of ground it was. It was more than a quarter of a mile across. Round in shape, it rose gently from the shores to the flat center, which was a good hundred feet above the level of the lake. Mud-faced was tremendously pleased with it, climbing laboriously to the central plateau, from where you could see great distances over the flat country around. He said he was sure his health would quickly improve in this drier air. Dab-dab prepared a meal, the best she could in the circumstances, to celebrate what she called the turtle's housewarming, and everyone sat down to it and there was much gaiety, and the Doctor was asked to make a speech and honor the occasion. Cheapside was dreadfully afraid that Mud-faced would get up to make a speech and reply, and that it would last into the following day. But to the spowl's relief, the Doctor immediately he had finished set about preparations for his departure. He made up the six bottles of gout mixture and presented them to Mud-faced with instructions in how it should be taken. He told him that although he was closing up the post office for regular service, he would always be possible to get word to puddle-beam. He would ask several birds of passage to stop here occasionally, and if the gout got any worse, he wanted Mud-faced to let him know by letter. The old turtle thanked him over and over again, and the parting was a very affecting one. When at last the good-byes were all said, they got into the canoe and set out on the return journey. Reaching the mouth of the river at the southern end of the lake, they paused a moment before entering the mangrove's swamps and looked back, and there in the distance they could just see the shape of the old turtle standing on his new island watching them. They waved to him and pushed on. "'He looks just the same as we saw him the night we arrived,' said Dab-Dab. "'You remember? Like a statue on a pedestal against the sky.' "'O' old fellow,' murmured the Doctor, "'I do hope he will be all right. What a wonderful life! What a wonderful history!' "'Didn't I tell you, Doctor?' said Chief-Side, "'that it was going to be the longest story of the world. Took a day and half a night to tell.' "'Ah, but it's a story that nobody else could tell,' said John Doolittle. "'Good thing, too,' muttered the sparrow, "'it would never do if there was many of his kinds spread around this busy world. Of course, myself, I don't believe a word of the yarn. I think he made it all up. He had nothing else to do, sitting there in the mud, century after century, cogitating. The journey down through the jungle was completed without anything special happening. But when they reached the sea and turned the bow of the canoe westward, they came upon a very remarkable thing. It was an enormous hole in the beach, or rather a place where the beach had been taken away bodily. He told the doctor that it was here that the birds had picked up the stones and sand on their way to Jungenika. They had literally carried acres of the seashore nearly a thousand miles inland. Of course, in a few months the action of the surf filled in the hole so that the place looked like the rest of the beach. But that is why, when many years later, some learned geologists visited Lake Jungenika. They said that the seashore gravel on an island there was a clear proof that the sea had once flowed through that neighborhood, which was true in the days of the flood. But the doctor was the only scientist who knew that mud faces island and the stones that made it had quite a different history. On his arrival at the post office, the doctor was given his usual warm reception by the king and dignitaries of Fanteppo who paddled out from the town to welcome him back. He was served at once, and his majesty seemed so delighted at renewing this pleasant custom that John Doolittle was loathed to break the news to him that he must shortly resign from the foreign mail service and sail for England. However, while they were chatting on the veranda of the houseboat, a fleet of quite large sailing vessels entered the harbor. These were some of the new merchant craft of Fanteppo, which plied regularly up and down the coast, trading with other African countries. The doctor pointed out to the king that mails intended for foreign lands could now be quite easily taken by these boats to the bigger ports on the coast, where vessels from Europe called every week. From that the doctor went on to explain to the king that much as he loved Fanteppo and its people, he had many things to attend to in England, and must now be thinking of going home. And of course as none of the natives could talk bird language, the swallow mail would have to be replaced by the ordinary kind of post office. The doctor found that his majesty was much more distressed at the prospect of losing his good white friend and his afternoon tea on the houseboat than at anything else which the change would bring. But he saw that the doctor really felt he had to go, and at length, with tears falling into his teacup, he gave permission for the postmaster general of Fanteppo to resign. Great was the rejoicing among the doctor's pets, and the patience swallows when the news got about that John Doolittle was really going home at last. Gub-gub and Jip could hardly wait while the last duties and ceremonies of closing the houseboat to the public and transferring the foreign mail service to the office in the town were performed. Dab-dab bustled cheerfully from morning to night while Cheapside never ceased to chatter of the glories of London, the comforts of a city life, and all the things he was going to do as soon as he got back to his beloved native haunts. There was no end to the complimentary ceremonies which the good King Coco and his courtiers performed to honor the departing doctor. For days and days, previous to his sailing, canoes came and went between the town and the houseboat bearing presence to show the good will of the Fentippans. During all this, having to keep smiling the whole time, the doctor got sadder and sadder at leaving his good friends, and he was heartily glad when the hour came to pull up the anchor and put to sea. People who have written the history of the kingdom of Fentippo all devote several chapters to a mysterious white man who, in a very short space of time, made enormous improvements in the mail, the communications, the shipping, the commerce, the education, and the general prosperity of the country. Indeed, it was through John Doolittle's quiet influence that the King Coco's reign came to be looked upon as the golden age in Fentippan history. A wooden statue still stands in the marketplace to his memory. The excellent postal service continued after he left. The stamps with Coco's face on them were as various and as beautiful as ever. On the occasion of the first annual review of the Fentippo merchant fleet, a very fine two-shelling stamp was struck in commemoration, showing his majesty inspecting his new ships through a lollipop-quizzing glass. The King himself became a stamp collector, and his album was as good as a family photo album, containing as it did so many pictures of himself. The only awkward incident that happened in the record of the post office, which the doctor had done so much to improve, was when some ardent stamp collectors wishing to make modern stamps rare, allotted to have the King assassinated in order that the current issues should go out of date. But the plot was happily discovered before any harm was done. Years afterwards, the birds visiting Puddley told the doctor that the King still had the flowers in the window boxes of his old houseboat carefully tended and watered in his memory. His majesty, they said, never gave up the fond hope that someday his good white friend would come back to Fentipo with his kindly smile, his instructive conversation, and his jolly tea parties on the post office veranda. End of Part 4, Chapter 11, End of Dr. Doolittle's Post Office by Hugh Loftin. This book, recorded by Phil Chenevere in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, January, 2020.