 CHAPTER V. OF THE DREAM COACH by Anne Parrish. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. KING FELIPS DREAM Up into the sky rose the hundred horses and their great coach until the roof of the little emperor's palace with its bright yellow tiles looked only as big as a yellow autumn leaf, as a jasmine petal, as nothing at all, and along the road of stars they galloped while notes of music sprayed from the wheels of the coach and dropping to earth gave the nightingale's ideas for beautiful new songs. On through the sky and above the earth until the night was over and at last, instead of a road, the hundred horses were galloping along a river. All along the river bank tall poplars rustled and whispered in the wind of the coach's passing, and little waves, stirred up by the horses hooves, slapped against the small houses that rose from the water, small pink houses and blue houses and white red roofed houses, each with its rowboat tied to its steps. White swans and green ducks rocked on the ripples, their feathers gilded by sunshine, for it was bright day now, and the rain that had been pouring down had stopped. It was bright day, and yet no one saw the dream coach except a little French boy, whose eyes were falling shut in one little pink cottage. Philippe, Philippe, the driver called, one last dream is left for you. What was Philippe's dream that you shall hear? Hold still, then, my little monkey, but mother wailed Philippe, I have the soap in my eye. Soap is it, my angel, asked his mother, lifting his face in her two wet hands. Oh, but there is really no soap at all to speak about, just a bubble or two of suds. There. And with the corner of her apron she wiped away the thick white lather around his eyelashes, so that Philippe looked like a little boy made of snow, except for his eyes, which were large and brown and filled with tears from the painful smarding. From head to ankles he was covered with a froth of soap suds, and his feet had stirred the warm water in the bottom of the wooden tub into a rainbow-tinted mound of bubbles, which grew and grew and cascaded over the sides with a tiny fizzing sound. You are giving our young one a very thorough tubbing, remarked Philippe's father. He was sitting under the narrow window of their cottage, cutting the yellow-white sprouts from the bag of potatoes which he intended to plant in the dark of the next moon. Indeed I am. I shall scrub and rub and polish until he looks like a wax image, or as pink and shining as the inside of the seashell his uncle Pablo sent him from Pimpol. Philippe's father held a large brown potato at arm's length, and regarding it with his head cocked to one side said, Very fine. Yes, very fine. A good size, agreed his wife, looking over her shoulder while she absently bored into the ear of her long-suffering son with a bit of soapy rag. Yes, but I was thinking rather of Philippe's uncle Pablo. It is he who is very fine. A grand gentleman who carries a gold-headed cane and has traveled far to the very borders of our beloved France, and even beyond, so I hear. Oh, very much beyond. He has been in every country in the world according to the wonderful stories he tells. And the world, Pierre, I understand to be of a tremendous bigness. Indeed, if what I am told is the truth, it must be three or four times as big as our own country. Is that so? replied Pierre doubtfully, starting to cut the pallid sprouts again with quick motions of his work-hardened hands. It may all be the truth, my good wife, but I have always taken the words of Pablo with a grain of salt. I think for that matter that he is a little inclined to blow. Blow? asked Philippe from his tub. I thought it was only the wind that could blow. But of course no one answered him, for he was only a little boy, and not expected to understand. Instead, his father bent over his bag of potatoes to hide his smile, and his mother remembered that the potefou, which is a thick soup made of odds and ends and bits of scraps, and almost everything you can think of mixed with water in a large pot and left on the fire to bubble sluggishly for many hours, needed stirring right away. Take care, warned her husband, that you do not drop soap into the soup from your wet hands, for I know of nothing that gives it a more curious flavor. Just the same, said Philippe's mother, turning from the hearth, her cheeks flushed rosy red by the bright, hot embers. With the same, it is a good thing that our little one should be invited to meet such a fine gentleman. It will teach him how to say the most ordinary thing elegantly, and how to carry his head high, as if he were a born dandy. Philippe, repeat to your father the little speech you are to say when you meet your uncle. Good health to you, my dear and illustrated uncle. It gives no-no my pet, my dear and illustrious uncle. And was there not something that you forgot? Yes, mother, I forgot to make my bow. I make a new beginning? Do so. Whereupon Philippe bent nearly double over the edge of the tub, scattering drops of water upon the floor. Good health to you, my dear and illustrious uncle. It gives me the most great pleasure to have soap in my mouth. Wait then until you are dressed in the new suit I have sewn for you, and his mother, taking an earthen jar of water from the side of the fire where it had been put to warm, poured it over his head, leaving him no longer a snow-boy, but a boy made of the shiniest china you can imagine. Is that pleasant, my brave one? It is warm like rain, said Philippe, lifting his arms above his head. I will not need another washing for a long, long time, will I, mother? Philippe's grandparents lived the distance of twelve fields, a small woods, three styles, and the width of a brook from his own home. Just how far that is is hard to say. You see, it makes such a difference whom you ask. Ask the swallows, and they will tell you eerily that it is no distance at all, just a flick of the wing and you are there. But ask the snails who live under the broad leaves of the flowering mulains, and after pondering a long time, they will tell you that it gives them a headache to think of such a tremendous distance, that it would surely take several lifetimes to travel so far, and as for themselves, they would consider it very foolish to start out on such a dangerous adventure when there were plenty of young lettuces so close at hand. To a small boy of eight, it was quite a long journey taken alone, particularly when he could not take the shortcut by wriggling through the tangled copes for fear of tearing his new suit, or being covered with last year's burrs and barbed seeds of the undergrowth, but he reached his grandparents' house at last. It was a little house built by the side of a river actually touching the water on one side, so that you could step out of the door down a step and into a rowboat, and there were white swans and yellow-breasted ducks with the bronze green backs swimming in the reflection of the pink walls. On the land side was a poplar tree, very tall and dressed in silvery blue leaves, standing erect, like a giant soldier on guard before a toy house. Once Philippe's grandfather had explained to him how he could tell the time of day by the shadow of this tree cast. When it struck across the chimney at the corner of the house, it was time to go into the fields. When it crossed at the front door, it was time to enter therein for the midday meal, and when it pointed out toward the fields, that was a signal for grandmother to ring the great bell that would call the workers home. And what, Philippe had asked, do you do, grandfather, when the sun is under the clouds and there is no shadow to tell the time? Well, then we must needs look at the clock which ticks on the mantle shelf over the fire, grandfather said with a twinkle of his old blue eyes, half hidden by tufts of white eyebrows. Although the day had commenced unusually fine and the calm blue sea of sky had been without an island reef or bar of cloud to wreck the golden galleon of the sun, by the time Philippe had been tubbed, scrubbed, dressed in his vest, had been rehearsed in his address to his uncle, kissed goodbye, and given a little nosegay of pansies and lilies of the valley in a paper twist for his grandmother, and had crossed the 12 fields and picked his way carefully through the woods to avoid the sharp brambles that reached out after him with long insinuous arms. By the time all this had come to pass and Philippe was actually in sight of his grandparents cottage, it began to rain from a sky as heavily gray as it had been brightly blue before. It started so suddenly that Philippe had to run across the last field to keep the big drops from ruining his new black velvet cap. The inside of the house was very dark with only two windows, like half closed eyes looking out onto the world. Through these windows entered shafts of pale, watery light that cut blue paths in the reeds of wood smoke creeping around the rafters. Pots, pans, and kettles of burnished copper hung from hoax in the ceiling and mirrored in tiny points the flames leaping on the hearth. It was like another world, small but complete. Inside grandmother's and grandfather's house, the floor was the earth itself, trampled until it was as hard as brick. The reeds of smoke were thin clouds flung across a dark sky where yellow and red stars winked and twinkled. At one end of the room where grandmother and Anjou the cat were busy preparing dinner over the bright fire, it was gay and warm. Day, but at the farther end where grandfather sat stroking his long white beard, it was dark and chilly. Night. When Philippe entered, he had to blink his eyes for some time before he could adjust himself to the darkness. Then he handed his grandmother the bouquet he had carried so carefully, politely wishing her health and happiness. There were tears in grandmother's eyes as she bent over and kissed her grandson's pink and shining cheek, but then there were always tears in grandmother's eyes. Why, Philippe could never understand. Did she weep because of the stinging smoke that the chimney seemed too small to carry off, or because she was sad? Not sad, thought Philippe, or grandmother would not be all the time smiling. Hey, oh, saying grandmother and her high little voice, dropping a tear in the yellow heart of a purple pansy. What pretty flowers you have brought me, my Philippe. And see, here is a raindrop in one of them, shining as prettily as a glass bead. Philippe did not like to tell her that it was her own tear. Then it is raining out, she asked. It will make a wet homecoming for your uncle, but it is lovely nevertheless, and if it comes down hard enough, it will make the river flow along more happily than it has for a long day. Won't that be beautiful, Philippe? Yes, grandmother Marianne, Philippe agreed politely, and then asked, when will my uncle Pablo be here? Mother has taught me what to say when I make my bow to him, and if he is too long in coming, I am afraid that I might forget. He will come, said grandmother, when he has a mind to. And is he coming from a great distance, maybe all the way from Paris? Philippe thought that Paris was the only city in the world, built on the world's very edge. Maybe, and then maybe not, grandmother told him. There is no telling where your uncle will come from. He is apt to blow in from any quarter. Ah, then that explains it, remarked Philippe innocently. Father said he always thought Uncle Pablo was a little inclined to blow. Now did he? Grandmother was frowning and smiling at one at the same time. Have you spoken to your grandfather yet? I did not know that grandfather Joseph was home. I did not see him, said Philippe truthfully. Use your young eyes sharply and look into every corner, advised grandmother. Anjou, she cried warningly. You will burn your nose if you get too close to that roasting duck. Philippe gazed into the farthest corner of the room where he saw two dim spots of white glowing like snow in the night. He had to advance quite near before he could be sure that what he saw was the long white hair and the long white beard of grandfather. Good day, grandfather Joseph, said Philippe bowing low before the old man who sat huddled in a chair, the arms of which were worn shiny by the grip of thin fingers. Good day, a very bad day, grandson. Though I no longer hear nor see as I used to, I can feel that it is raining. Tell me, is it raining? Yes, grandfather, replied Philippe from the top of a churn where he had climbed to look out of the small window at the river. It is falling so hard that the raindrops are bouncing from the surface of the water. Remembering what his grandmother had told him, he added, it will make the river flow along more happily than it has for a long time and that will be very beautiful. Horrible, said grandfather with a sigh that was almost too soft to be heard. It makes me feel weak, clear through, he continued. Give me the sharp cold and the sparkling frost when the river freezes so hard that it cracks and roars like a cannon. When I was a boy, I used to spread my cape and let the wind push me across the slippery ice. This soft weather will be the end of me. There were three people living in the house that Philippe visited. Besides grandmother and grandfather, there was little Everle, their grand-dennies, and therefore Philippe's cousin. Everle was a child of tender beauty, younger than Philippe, quite a baby in the sight of eyes that were eight long years old. Everle was very shy, so shy that she had hidden under the table when Philippe had entered the door and it was not until he had paid his respects to grandmother and grandfather that he saw her there, peeking out at him like a flower from the dark shadow of a garden wall. Hello, my little cousin, said Philippe with a grand and grown-up air. Would you like to play a very important game with me that I have just thought of? Everle laughed her pleasure. It was a most excellent game, so Philippe thought. He was king and thrown down the churn and Everle was his slave and had to bring him anything he might request with the penalty of having her head chopped off if she failed. King Philippe had just commanded the brightest stars in the heavens to be brought to him when there was all at once allowed rapping and rattling of the wooden latch. The door flew open before anyone had time to answer and a gust of chilly wind swept through the room breaking the weaving rings of smoke, making the fire leap up the chimney causing grandmother in her excitement to drop the wooden spoon into the pudding and even waving grandfather's beard like a white flag. Behold, I am here! cried Uncle Pablo from the threshold withdrawing his right arm from the voluminous folds of his cape and making a magnificent sweeping gesture ending with his fingertips being pressed lightly against his expanded chest. So I see, said grandfather in a thin complaining voice from his dark corner. Close the door, he pleaded, tucking the end of his waving beard into his blue smock. Close the door, the rain makes me feel very weak, but no one paid the least bit of attention to him. Grandmother ran forward with squeaking noises of delight throwing her arms around the newcomer draping him with a link of sausage which she had forgotten to put down in her hurry in the manner of a necklace. Everle shyly retreated under the table again and Philippe tried desperately to remember the pretty sentences with which he was to address the great man. He was in the very middle of trying to remember when his grandmother took him by the hand. And here is your little nephew, said grandmother, who has come all by himself a great distance to welcome you. Philippe stared dumbly, wishing that he had had the presence of mind to slip under the table with Avril. Come, what do you say to your uncle, Philippe? asked grandmother. I forgot what I say, answered Philippe miserably. But I am very glad to see you my, now it comes to me, and he started again. Good health to you, my dear and illustrious uncle. It gives me the most fiddlesticks, interposed Uncle Pablo laughing. The most great pleasure to welcome you and yes, yes, said Uncle Pablo, cutting him short again. But what do you say to this? And he reached into the folds of his cape and handed Philippe something small and shining. What is it? asked Philippe. Oh, that is better. At least you did not learn that by heart, did you, my boy? Here, I will show you. Whereupon he put the bright present to his lip and blew a shrill blast that rattled the pods and made grandmother drop her sausages in alarm. She dusted them very carefully before putting them in the hot pan that was waiting to cook them. A whistle, shouted Philippe, dancing with joy. Then he ducked under the table to show his beautiful new present to Avril. And here is a present for the other little one, said Uncle Pablo, handing the shyly smiling girl a toy spade with a bright green handle and a wreath of early spring flowers painted on the tiny blade. What a feast they had in honor of their distinguished guest. I suppose, said grandmother to Uncle Pablo, that you have traveled a great distance since you last visited us. Yes, yes, said Uncle Pablo, flourishing the wing of a duck. I have breezed about a bit here, there, and everywhere. Would you like to hear a little about my travels? Oh, please, begged Philippe, though the question had not been addressed to him. Now, there is India, commenced Uncle Pablo, a very hot country, but as gay as a circus. And over the roast duck, he told them many things in his soft and flowing voice of elephants, their enormous bodies painted brilliantly in curlicues, circles, and zigzags, swaying through narrow streets like clumsy ships of the land, ridden by dark-skinned potentates robed in ivory satin and scarlet brocades, wearing precious jewels, more sparkling than broken bits of colored glass, of softly stepping and treacherous tigers, prowling in deep jungles of lions and leopards, crouching panthers and laughing hyenas, and all manner of beasts, of birds with emerald crests, sapphire wings, breasts of flaming orange, long sweeping tails and screaming falsetto voices that seemed to shatter the air into sharp and hurdling splinters of gorilla fathers with so terrible a power in their long arms that they could uproot a tree as easily as one could pick a dandelion, and gorilla mothers holding babies to their breasts as gently and lovingly as any human mothers, of chattering pink monkeys shouting in derisive laughter from their hiding places in the treetops at Passersby. Leaving the wildness of the tropic forests, he told them of queer-shaped temples and pagodas lifting to the blue of the sky, made of stone carved as beautifully as lace, where lived the leering and laughing gods of the heathen. By the time grandmother had put the crisp green lettuces on the table, Uncle Pablo had carried his little audience to far away China, and without so much as a by-your-leave into the gardens of mandarins and emperors where jasmine filled the air with sweetness, and rose and white peonies bowed with their heavy heads around the lily ponds. Far away and far away they flew on Uncle Pablo's winged words over snowy mountains tinted with the pink and lavender radiance of the dawn. Through the fiery furnace of desert sands where haughty camels plotted their weary course to the beat of Arab drum and the mystical rhythm of Arab song, up broad rivers where crocodiles basked in the sun, past cities with towers and turrets, through the courtyards of palace and castle, into the riot of crowded markets with their laughter and shouting, buying and selling, into a land where the streets were water, where the buildings had wings that turned and turned, where the men and boys wore tight little jackets of velvet fastened with brass buttons, and trousers as big as two sacs sewn together. Oh yes, said Uncle Pablo, and they all wear wooden shoes so they can walk safely across the streets of water without sinking. Remarkable, said Grandmother. If true, said Grandfather, but he spoke so low that everyone thought that he was merely choking and paid no attention to him. More pleaded the leap, and I was in England the other day, continued Uncle Pablo, who needed little urging, where I visited the royal family. That is nothing, he said in answer to a look of proud astonishment from Grandmother. I have a great many acquaintances of all walks of life. Once I must up the hair of a prince and ran off with the parasol of a duchess, just by way of a little joke, you know. Did I ever tell you? But if he ever had, he told them again, and at such length that though the dinner had come to an end and Grandmother had cleared away the dishes and given Andrew a saucer of milk and a bone, he was still telling them this and other monstrous adventures in his quick, easy voice. How thrilling it all was to Philippe, it seemed to him that the gay words flew from his uncle's mouth and over his head like flocks of wild birds. Some of them were quite ordinary little words as sparrows are ordinary little birds, but others were long and strange like the queer birds his uncle had told him about. Or again, this tale of other lands and peoples was like music to which the crackling of the fire and the drip of the rain outside made a soothing accompaniment. He tried hard to keep his eyes and ears wide open, but to tell the truth, he had eaten very heartily of Grandmother's delicious dinner, and that with the darkness of the room, the lullaby sing song of his uncle's voice and the soft purring of Anjou made him heavy-headed and in danger of falling into sleep at any moment. Voices came to him through the fog of smoke sounding far, far away. He heard his uncle say, "'But you, Grandfather Joseph, "'you should go about the world a bit "'and see for yourself these wonderful things.' "'I am content,' replied a soft old voice. "'Yes, you are content to stay where you are put, "'or at best to drift around a bit, eh?' "'And then the old man saying, "'I drift, I drift, I drift.'" Maybe it was then that Philippe went to sleep, or on the other hand, maybe it was then that Philippe overcame his drowsiness and woke up to a new interest in things. Certainly strange and exciting happenings took place in rapid succession. It started with grandmother going to the window where she stood on tiptoe and looked out at the river. "'Oh,' she cried, and her voice was younger and happier than Philippe had ever heard it before. "'Oh, the river has grown up. "'Never before have I seen my darling child "'so strong and beautiful and how he runs and laughs. "'In another minute, he will be at the sill of the window. "'I will open the door and invite him in.' "'No, no,' cried Grandfather Weekly, jumping up from the chair and staring wildly about the room. "'It will be the end of me. "'But think, Joseph, how my child will love it. "'He will splash and laugh. "'Why, even now I can see him creeping "'under the door in his eagerness.' "'Without a word, gathering the baby April into his arms, "'Grandfather dashed out the other door, "'and they watched him running across the fields and meadows, "'his white hair and beard, "'flying back over his shoulders "'in the mad speed of his flight. "'Now there is a strange man,' "'grandmother said to Uncle Pablo. "'Pablo only whistled softly and looked wise. "'Shh.' "'One would think,' continued Grandmother, "'that he would be grateful for a nice trip "'on the back of my child. "'He will come to my way of thinking all in good time.' "'She looked around her critically. "'The fire,' she said. "'How fiercely the fire is burning. "'It quite makes me boil with anger. "'I won't have it. "'I hate it.' "'And she ran upon it, "'scattering the embers with a great hissing sound. "'There now, turning again to Pablo. "'Do you think that the room is in readiness for my son? "'Shall I open the floodgates and let him in?' "'How about Anjou?' said Uncle Pablo. "'Anjou can ride in his basket. "'And Philippe?' "'The little cradle by the bed that Avril sleeps in. "'An excellent boat. "'Jump in, Philippe. "'Run and jump in for we are going to make a voyage. "'I, let me see. "'This tub will suit me nicely. "'I have a fondness for tubs, "'and you, Pablo, can run along the bank. "'Into your basket, Anjou, quick. "'You look strangely unhappy, my pet. "'Are we all ready? "'Enter, my son.' "'Grandmother unlatched the door facing the river. "'It flew back against the wall with a crash. "'What happened next was very confused "'in the mind of the startled Philippe. "'There was a great swishing roar "'as the water of the river, "'swollen to unheard-of heights by the hard rain, "'leaped and tumbled into the room "'in masses and billows of silver foam. "'Titly he clutched the rail of the crib "'as a strange boat tossed and turned "'and ducked and pitched and bobbed "'and spun around and around in the currents "'and cross currents and boiling waves. "'At last, when the water in the room "'had reached the level of the water outside "'and therefore had suddenly quieted, "'he dared to look about him. "'Uncle Pablo had disappeared. "'Grandmother was calmly sitting in her tub "'with a rapturous smile on her old face. "'So impulsive,' she remarked conversationally to Philippe. "'My son the river,' she explained. "'He is so very glad to see me. "'Did you notice how he jumped and romped "'when I let him in? "'It made me very proud, "'but we must not waste our time floating idly here. "'There is to be a very important reunion "'of my whole family. "'And with that they were caught in an eddying current "'and swept out of the door. "'Uncle, with his tail as erect as a mast, "'Philippe, wide-eyed and silent in his cradle boat "'and grandmother in her wooden tub, pleased and proud, "'the happy tears streaming down her cheeks. "'Once you get over being frightened, "'it is really great good fun,' so Philippe found, "'to go racing along a swift-flowing river "'in the little boat that nods to each passing wave. "'They passed tall reeds and rushes "'that waved gracefully to them from the shore, "'weeping willow trees, their wands gray-green "'and crystal with rain, "'gently caressing the surface of the water. "'Emerald fields, patterned with yellow flowers, "'shining wet, mallows by the river's edge, "'white with glowing hearts of deep pink, "'deep pink with hearts of white. "'Sometimes swiftly, sometimes slowly, "'but always and ever onward, "'grandmother's son carried them on his strong back, "'now through lowlands and now between high banks "'of dark chocolatey mud, "'where, from the black portals of burrows and tunnels, "'the bright eyes of water animals "'gazed at them in astonishment. "'Yes, it was thoroughly delightful, "'but it was puzzling to Philippe. "'There were many things that he did not understand. "'He decided that he would ask grandmother "'who was floating close to him in her wooden tub. "'Grandmother Marianne,' he called to her, "'why do you call the river your son? "'Look at me, Philippe. "'Have I not changed?' asked grandmother. "'I am no longer grandmother Marianne,' she said. "'I am grandmother rain. "'Without me there would be no puddles, "'no pools, no lakes, no ponds, "'no rills and ronds and rivulets, "'no brooks and streams, no waterfalls, no rivers. "'Their lovely and happy voices would die from the land. "'They are all my children, "'and if it were not for my children, "'there would be no ocean.' "'What is the ocean?' asked Philippe "'who had never been to the seashore. "'That, my Philippe,' said grandmother Rain, "'is where I was born "'and where all my children return. "'It is a beautiful place "'and how your uncle loves to play there. "'It decidedly worthy, man, your uncle, "'though at times a trifle flighty. "'They passed a grove of trees, "'their bright branches reaching out over the water. "'How fresh and strong they look,' cried grandmother Rain. "'They are always glad to see me, I can assure you. "'Oh, I have strange adventures, Philippe. "'Sometimes I am buried in the soft brown earth "'and you would think that would be the end of me, "'now wouldn't you? "'But no, I creep back into the air "'through trunks of trees, "'through blades of grass and stalks of water "'and through the shoots of young corn. "'I trickle through an endless maze "'of underground passages into deep wells "'or until I find a place where I can come "'bubbling up to the surface. "'Every living thing needs me "'and every living thing loves me.' "'Except sometimes little boys kept in from play, eh?' "'Philippe felt guilty and was about to apologize "'when grandmother Rain put him at rest. "'That is not quite true. "'There are others who do a great deal "'of complaining about me. "'They say that I am an old spoil sport "'just because I try to make myself pleasant "'at their parties and picnics. "'But if I were to leave them forever, "'she made an odd little gesture of despair. "'Would you like me to sing you a song?' "'She asked unexpectedly. "'It might serve to pass the time. "'Please,' said Philippe, "'who was getting a bit tired of floating aimlessly "'and never arriving anywhere. "'Very well, and this is what she sang. "'Pidapak, pidapak, drip drip drip, "'pidapak, pidapak, slip slip slip "'over roofs and windows, over garden walls, "'over fields and meadows, the grain rain falls. "'I fall upon the countryside, upon the city square. "'I tap the silk umbrellas that are opened everywhere. "'I wash away the dirt and dust that cloud the flower's face. "'I fall on royal palaces and in the marketplace. "'For no one is too regal and no one is too low "'to receive the crystal blessing "'that I scatter as I go. "'I freshen up the thirsty world and make it clean and green. "'The grass grows tall and flowers bloom wherever I have been. "'Although I lie in gutters and slip through hole and crack "'and sometimes have my little joke by running down your back, "'I make small children happy, for on me they may float. "'They're shiny bright, they're red and white, "'they're little new toy boat. "'So think not that because I fall like tears I may be sad. "'The sparkle in each drop of me is proof that I am glad. "'Pid a pat, pid a pat, drip drip drip. "'Pid a pat, pid a... "'Ah, there he comes,' cried Grandmother rain excitedly for getting to finish her song. "'Who?' asked Philippe, curious like most boys. "'Who indeed?' replied Grandmother. "'Look up the shore. "'Now we will have some sport.' Philippe did as he was told and saw a small figure hurrying toward them at a great pace. As the figure drew nearer, he saw that it was Uncle Pablo running along the edge of the water and stirring it to Frenzy. "'Hold tight,' warned Grandmother from her tub. Philippe needed no warning for as Uncle Pablo drew opposite to them, waves broke the smooth surface of the river and tossed his little crib about like a cockle-shell. He could see as he was twisted about that the rising waves were creeping over the edge of Grandmother rain's tub and swamping it. It was sinking lower and lower. "'Be careful, Grandmother,' he cried frantically. "'This is what I call delightful,' replied that remarkable woman, tipping her tub until the water ran in and filled it with a deep gurgle. As she sank into the river she clapped her hands whereupon there was a blinding flash and a peel of sharp thunder. A bigger wave than the rest washed Philippe cradle and all upon the shore. He was too dazed to understand for some moments just what had happened, but at length he spied Grandmother already at some distance riding the waves and swimming strongly with the current. "'Now I shall be in high time for the reunion,' she called back to him the growing space between them making her voice very faint. Poor dear Grandmother, whatever would become of her, she would drown most surely, but perhaps Uncle Pablo who had raced on down the bank could save her, but no, he was strolling back. He had given up. Philippe ran to meet his uncle with tears in his eyes. "'Hello, so there you are. Safe and sound and high and dry, eh? You see, I veered about. I thought we might take a little stroll together,' explained Uncle Pablo eerily. "'Save her,' pleaded Philippe tearfully. "'Oh, Grandmother Rain, be calm, my boy. She is quite in her element. But unless we do something, the river will carry her far away, which is exactly what she wishes. She will be back again, never worry. She makes these little trips to the ocean quite frequently. Look, Philippe, the sun is coming out. The sun and Grandmother Rain do not get along well together. He always hides as soon as she has made her appearance. And when she has gone, he goes about mopping up the whole countryside. Uncle Pablo's commonest gave Philippe some comfort. He was grown up and therefore wise. Perhaps he knew the meaning of these strange things. "'Do they always disagree, Grandmother and the sun?' asked Philippe. "'Not always. Sometimes, though rarely, you may see them together, and then they hang a rainbow flag across the sky as a sign of their truce. But come, we have much land to cover. We must hurry a little more. Where are we going, Uncle Pablo?' What a silly question. How am I to know? I go wherever it pleases me at the moment, sometimes for days in one direction, and at other times, this way and that, quicker than you can think. And please do not call me Uncle Pablo. I am your Uncle Wind.' Philippe felt rebuked. He trotted silently beside the tall, lean fellow, thinking him a not very pleasant companion. He would gladly have walked home alone, but he had no idea where he was, and he was afraid to be left alone. At length, his Uncle Wind spoke to him. "'Do not think unkindly of me, little Philippe. If I was crossed to you, it is because I am given to complaining at times, but I am a good fellow at heart. With Grandmother Rain's help, I keep the world a nice, clean place to live in. And do you know, Philippe, the best part of it is that I am such a humorous fellow. I am all the time playing the most amusing jokes. Why, once I must up the hair of a prince and ran off with the parasol of a duchess. There now. I think I told you that once before, didn't I? But where and when it has quite passed my ability to remember. Well, that gives you an idea, hats. There is nothing quite so much fun as hats. Snatch a hat and run. Drop it until its owner is just about to pick it up and then snatch and run again. There's nothing that draws such a large and appreciative audience as the hat trick. Though of course umbrellas are great sport, but I need Grandmother Rain to help me with that trick. Maybe you think I am only a practical joker. Not at all. Do you remember that day that you were sick and your head felt as if it were on fire? Do you remember how I came and cooled it for you and played with the tassels of the curtains until sundown to keep you amused? If I get a bit angry and rough at times, I am gentleness itself at others. And particularly am I loved in places that are hot and stuffy and saddened by ill health. I am one of the housekeepers of the earth and I must be everlastingly at it to make things more comfortable and ship shape. Oh, the dirt and the dust, the smoke and the foul smells people throw into my face in the cities. Little dreaming that if it were not for me, the earth would be unfit to live on, but I am strong without end and do my best. Yes, Philippe, I may bluster and blow and play tricks, but for all that I am a very excellent fellow and I am a traveler and adventurer over land and sea, such as one has never read of in the most thrilling books. No one has seen more of the world than I. I have seen strange parts of the world, looked behind walls of ice where no living thing has ever been. Only the other day, on and on talked Uncle Wind and on and on traveled the two together. Over more meadows they went than Philippe thought could possibly be crowded into the world and pass innumerable herds of cows and flocks of sheep. It had grown warm with the coming of the sun and often would workers in the fields spread wide their arms and speak words of welcome as they passed. The grass and the illa wheat vowed as they stepped lightly over them and even the trees nodded in friendly recognition. Birds stretching their wings took rides on Uncle Wind's shoulders. At times Uncle Wind would go quite fast so that Philippe had to run and again so slowly that they were scarcely creeping until after a long time, they stopped quite still on the top of a high hill. I often lie down and rest at sunset, explained Uncle Wind in a voice that was scarcely above a whisper. Far, far away Philippe saw through a twilight haze of gold what he had never seen before, the deep ocean where grandmother Rain was holding her family reunion. The crimson sun was rolling over the blue edge of the world into its sparkling heart. He sat down in the crevice of a rock and thought long and wonderingly of the things that had come to pass that day and he tried to see in the land that was spread like a map before his eyes the red roof and clumps of trees that would be his own home. He did so long to be with his darling mother again and very soon it would be dark. Silver stars began to shine in a pale green sky. Golden stars were lit in a sky of deepening purple. More and more stars in a sky dark blue. Night had suddenly closed in around him and he was frightened and started to cry. Uncle Pablo, I mean Uncle Wind, I want to go home. But where was Uncle Wind? There was no answer, no sound and search as carefully as he would Philip could find no trace of him. It was as if he had utterly vanished which indeed he had for the time being. What was poor Philip to do? The hilltop stones that surrounded him took menacing forms. He was sure that he saw the shining eyes green and glowing of prowling beasts. He summoned all his courage and bravely started to walk. Where? Downhill, for he remembered that grandmother Reign had told him as they floated along the river that that was the only way any sensible person would ever care to travel. Besides, when you were on the top of a hill unless you stayed there there was no other choice. Where else he was bound for he had no idea but anything would be better than the broken stillness of the haunted rocks. How far he walked at times ran through the dark night falling over roots and tearing his way through scratching brambles pursued by unseen terrors of darkness before he came to the old man he had no idea. At first he was timid of approaching the bent figure sitting huddled on a stump so dim under the starlight but loneliness and the longing for companionship overcame his fear. Please sir, he said drawing slowly closer. Please sir, could you tell me? Grandfather Joseph, grandfather Joseph. And he flung his arms around grandfather's neck the hot tears streaming down his cheeks but how cold grandfather was. The touch of grandfather's face against Philippe's burned like ice. Watch out, said grandfather sharply. You are so insufferably warm you will melt me if I do not succeed in freezing you first. And young Philippe be careful the names you call people. Look carefully at me again, do you not know me? Philippe was doubtful. Surely it was grandfather Joseph and yet grandfather had never been so cold nor so strange in his behavior. Did he know him? Yes, no answered Philippe not being able to decide. Yes, snow that is right I am grandfather snow. It's a very upsetting remarked the puzzled boy. Is it replied grandfather snow coldly? But I may stay here with you grandfather. I was so frightened alone in the black night. I was out walking with uncle wind and he seemed to disappear and then I lost my way. You may stay if you do not come too close. So uncle wind vanished, did he? Your uncle wind is a fickle changeable unreliable fellow but he has a will of his own and will turn up in time. I am very dependent on uncle wind. I can do nothing but lie around without him. He is very nice, isn't he grandfather? I ventured Philippe. I sometimes replied the old man. He was all gentleness this afternoon but wait until you see him tonight. If I'm not mistaken in the signs he will be in a fury. Then watch out for yourself young impudence. When uncle wind is in a fury he is a hard master and drives everyone before him with a stinging lash. You'll see. Since grandfather was in such a chilling mood Philippe did not bother to talk with him but sat at a little distance thankful for companionship and watched the winking of the stars which even as he watched them sparkled and went out like sparks in their soot of a chimney or as if a black curtain were being drawn across the black sky. After a long while after the last star had vanished and the noiseless quiet of the night hemmed them in like an invisible wall grandfather's nose sprang to his feet and stood tensely listening with his hand to his ear. What is it grandfather? Philippe asked alarmed. Hush, hush, now I hear it plainly. Philippe put his hand to his ear as he had seen grandfather do and listened intently holding his breath that he should not miss the tiniest sound. Nothing. Yes, a far away and tiny sound. It sounded to Philippe like the little gasping noises he had made when he was learning to whistle before ever he had been able to attempt a tune. The noise of air breezed in and out through rounded lips. He is coming, grandfather told him in a voice trembling with excitement and he is perfectly furious. Seldom have I heard him whistle more beautifully, listen. Philippe no longer had to strain to hear the far away whistling. It was growing nearer every second and as it approached it became high and shrill. Is that my uncle wind making all that noise, grandfather? I said grandfather shortly, crouching close to the ground in the position of a runner about to start a race. I shall run and meet him, cried Philippe, delighted at the idea of seeing his old friend again who was now evidently very close. He had not run 12 steps when something spinning through the dark ran squarely into him, bowled him off his feet and rolled him along the ground as easily as if he had been made of thistle down. It was a terrific struggle he had to gain his feet again and even when he had and would have liked to stop to catch his breath and dust off the new suit his mother had made for him, he found himself being shoved roughly from behind. Faster, faster, faster, screamed a voice in his very ears and if he tried to slow up ever so little, rush, rush, rush, the voice would command. Please uncle wind, oh please uncle wind, I can't go any faster. My legs aren't long enough. Faster screamed uncle wind in anger, prodding poor Philippe so hard that he was fairly lifted off his feet. Above them and all around them there was the noise of tearing leaves and crashing branches. There was the groaning of tortured trees as uncle wind lashed them with his invisible catanine tails. Dim shadows streaked past like flying beasts. Rush, shrieked uncle wind, rush. Something cold and stinging struck across Philippe's face and it was then in spite of his breathless panic at the mad flight that he wanted to burst out laughing for he saw that grandfather who had all this time been running at his side was going so fast that he was actually losing his whiskers. Your whiskers, grandfather, the wind is tearing your whiskers off but the old man who was speeding along more lightly than any rabbit paid no attention. In truth it seemed in no great calamity for as fast as uncle wind could tear off his whiskers and his hair and scatter them on the ground, new would grow immediately. And so thick and fast they grew that the ground became covered with white but whiskers were not cold and wet when they brushed across one's face. They scratched and tickled as Philippe had found out on occasions when he had kissed grandfather. This was snow. Grandfather snow was spreading his white blanket over the earth. All night long uncle wind and grandfather snow sped across the dark country like madmen and when little Philippe grew too tired to stand it any longer uncle wind would lift him up in his strong arms and carry him. And the snow grew deep and eddy and twisted into great mounds and high drifts with sharp curved edges like the thin crests of waves so that in the cold pale light of the coming morning the world looked like a beautiful dream cut from marble. And with the coming of dawn uncle wind suddenly stopped driving them. That was a great run said uncle wind. It has left me completely out of puff. Philippe my boy, I hope it hasn't tired you too much. Grandfather snow, didn't I drive you beautifully? Aye. And you have not done so badly. It will be some days before we are in shape for another run like that. Well, goodbye. I think I shall do my famous vanishing act again. How about you grandfather? Not quite yet. I shall linger on a bit. There are a few touches, a few light touches I neglected in my hurry last night that I would like to attend to this morning. You see he explained to Philippe when uncle wind had vanished. I am quite an artist. Some people think that I am very little use and only good for lying around. Not at all. I make excellent snowballs for one thing. And uncle wind is not the only member of our family who has knocked a hat off. But of course I would never tell you of such a thing if I did not know that you were too much of a gentleman to use me for such a purpose. No. I work as hard for the things that grow in my own way as grandmother rain does in hers. But chiefly I delight to make things beautiful. See that naked gray tree? How bare and cold it looks. It needs a few highlights that I could not stop to give it last night. Whereupon grandfather snow touched each branch and twig with a powdering from his white beard and the twigging branch of every tree around until the whole world above the level of the ground was a tracery of gleaming fairy lace. Not bad Philippe, not a bit bad. Can you see anything else that needs touching up? Speak out before it's too late for my supply is nearly exhausted. Please grandfather it is beautiful but I am cold and tired and I would like to go where it is warm. Of course you would my child. Look below us in the valley it is green and even from here one can see that there are flowers. Run on down. I don't want to run I'm tired of running. Well well laughed grandfather. Walk then if you wish. After a while when the warm sun comes to view my handiwork I too will slip down into the valley but I shall not stop there. No I have a long way to travel before I join grandmother rain once more. Philippe turned slowly away touched by the purity and peace that surrounded him. Goodbye said grandfather snow gently. Very very gently. As Philippe reached the green valley below the sun broke through a thin veil of silver clouds. It had risen brilliant and white from its all night dip into the distant ocean and its cheering warmth was gratefully received by the tired adventurer. A fragrance mingled of evergreens and flowers, herbs and damp earth filled the emotionless air and from the end of the grass grown lane along which he walked lazily. There was an amazing confusion of sounds as if thousands of birds were singing at one time. The lane led him to a gate and on the gate was a sign which said, Philippe's garden. Philippe's garden. I must have been away a long time for my garden to have grown so big, Philippe told himself. Standing inside the gate was little Everle in a new green smock, prettily embroidered with reeds and garlands of flowers. She curtsied so low before him that the hem of her dress brushed the young shoots of grass and she smiled at him tenderly. And who are you? Asked Philippe warily. Why, Philippe, don't you know me? Yes, I think I do, but I thought that I knew grandmother Marianne and she turned out to be grandmother rain. Uncle Pablo it seems was not Uncle Pablo at all but Uncle Wind and my grandfather Joseph is grandfather snow and lies just above us on the hill. It is very puzzling. Can I be sure that you have not changed your name? I have quite a number of names explained the little girl. Some call me spring, some call me flora, but you may call me April, April, April. It's all the same. Would you like me to show you your garden? It is very lovely and I have worked hard to get it all in readiness for your coming. You? Yes, I am your gardener, but I have had a lot of help. Everyone has been so kind. Uncle Wind helped me plant it, grandfather snow prepared the ground in fine shape and grandmother rain has been here often and often giving my little plant babies their bottles. It has been a lot of worry and care, Philippe. April told him in a curiously grown up voice. But when you see my beautiful children, I am sure that you will think that it was worthwhile. Now here, she said, smiling happily and taking him by the hand, are some of my first babies. The snow drops, named in honor of their godfather, grandfather snow, and here, from bed to bed, from border to border they wandered, looking at the flowers, breathing the sweet perfume and watching the clumsy but clever bees out marketing for honey, which they would pay for with the golden pollen dust carried on their velvet backs. There were soft-pedaled pansies as dark as midnight, as purple as a queen's dress, as yellow as the sun, and sometimes of many colors curiously combined to form impish and laughing faces. There were lilies of a valley and violets, stone crop and candy-tuffed, peonies and roses, lark's fur and bridal breath, so many flowers that Philippe could not remember their names but gave himself up to the enjoyment of their soft and gorgeous colors, their delicate and magnificent shapes. Farther along the maze of paths where he was led by April, the flowers were still furrowed in tight buds, and at length they came to beds where the dark loam was scarcely more than broken by lifting sprouts. These are for later, explained his very light guide. And these asked Philippe when they had entered into a new part of the garden where straight rows of green-growing things were marked off in beds of checkerboard design. These funny fellows, April told him, are not as beautiful and proud as the flowers. They hold their heads less high, but they are all extremely worthy and one would find it difficult to get along without them. They look good enough to eat, said Philippe, who was beginning to feel very empty. "'They are,' said April. "'And is all this garden mine?' asked Philippe. "'Yes,' answered the little girl, curt-seeing again before him, and added, "'All yours, King Philippe.' "'Oh, you mustn't call me King. "'That is when we're not playing games, you know,' Philippe warned her, rather shocked. "'Kings are grand people with treasures hidden away "'in strong chests, and they wear crowns of gold "'and have thousands of servants. "'I know because I have read all about them "'in a book which my mother gave to me. "'I am a farmer's son "'and can never be so wonderful a person as a king.'" His companion looked at him very thoughtfully and at last spoke, "'You are a king, Philippe. "'Sun, moon, and stars shine down upon your head a crown. "'The whole earth is yours, "'the great strong chest of hidden treasures. "'From the time the first small star "'hung like a lonely spark in space, "'your servants have been preparing for you a kingdom, "'the kingdom of earth, "'then which there is only one greater. "'And that kingdom, too, will be yours someday "'if you rule wisely and well in this, "'and are kind and strong and gentle.'" "'It may be true,' said Philippe, "'rather bewildered by the wonderful things he was hearing. "'But I am quite sure that I have no servants. "'Why, little though I am, "'even I must help my father in the fields. "'We are all your servants. "'Is it not true, Grandmother Rain?' "'A shower suddenly passed over the garden, "'decking the flowers in crystal splendor, "'and from a small cloud overhead, "'Philippe could distinctly hear the voice of grandmother. "'Yes, I have worked for Philippe's father "'and his grandfathers from the very beginning of things, "'and I hope to work for his children "'and his children's children for time evermore. "'Do not think badly of me, Philippe, "'if I did not come and go just to your liking, "'for I am very busy with much important work to attend to.' "'Is it not true, Grandfather Snow?' "'Aye, so it is,' came a voice "'from the bright hill beyond the garden wall. "'Is it not true, Uncle Wind?' "'Well, well, I am just in time,' remarked Uncle Wind, "'sauntering up the garden path, "'the flowers nodding to him as he passed. "'He had cast aside his great cloak, "'but even then looked a little warm. "'Just wandered up from the southlands,' he continued. "'Yes, my little darling. "'It is true enough what you are telling Philippe, "'but, of course, we are not to be bossed about "'like ordinary servants. "'We serve, and yet we keep our independence. "'We have been at our various tasks so long "'that we know exactly what to do without being told. "'And if we seem a little lazy at times, "'or a little too enthusiastic at others, "'remember that we may have our very own good reasons.' "'Yes, indeed,' he went on commencing to bluster a bit. "'There are often reasons hidden "'in the strangest things we do. "'Did I ever tell you how once I must up the hair "'of a prince and ran off with the parasol of a duchess?' "'The wind is capable of being a little monotonous "'at times,' Aver whispered into Philippe's ear. "'But he could hardly hear her, "'for the garden was being filled with other voices, "'coming from here, there, and everywhere, "'from the grass and the flowers, "'and the vegetables and the trees, "'from the stones, and even from the brown earth itself. "'And they were all saying in their own way, "'the one thing we serve.' "'Please listen to us a moment,' pleaded the fragile voices "'of the flowers. "'We serve, too, though many consider us too delicate "'and concerned about our own looks to be of much use. "'But do not forget us, Philippe. "'Do not forget us when you are grown up, "'and your mind is crowded with worries and cares, "'and a lot of things that will seem more important "'to you than they really are. "'Keep a place for us in your mind and heart, "'and we will repay you in our mysterious way "'a hundredfold and more. "'Do as we ask, treasure beauty, purity and truth, "'for though you may love us now, "'you will not understand the full importance "'of our message until you have grown up. "'Do not forget.' "'The flowers are very talkative today,' remarked one little "'let us to another. "'The flattery of the bees has quite turned their heads,' agreed a radish who was notably sharp, "'whereupon some of the more sensitive flowers "'who had overheard blushed deeply. "'But Philippe heard none of this chatter of the vegetables, "'for it seemed that the whole world, "'the ox and the ass, the horse and the cow, "'the tame beasts of the fields, "'and the wild beasts of the spaces beyond, "'the fox and the rabbit, the mouse and the beetle, "'the creatures that crawled and the creatures that ran, "'the cricket and the grasshopper, "'and the inhabitants of air and ocean, "'the little hills and high hills, "'the valleys and forests, "'the voice of water through the land, sky and earth, all. "'All were joining in a great droning chant. "'We serve, we serve, we serve.' "'What utter nonsense!' shouted a little bird "'sossily, flying from the low branches of a tulip tree. "'I serve no one. "'I just have lots of fun, "'and I'm going to have an exciting fly, "'and that's something little boys can't do, "'for they haven't even any pinned feathers.'" The cocky way the little bird flapped her wings and tossed her head made Philippe double up with laughter. "'See,' said the little rebel's mate, flying close, "'you have made the king laugh, "'so your empty boasting has broken like a bubble, "'for laughter is one of the greatest services in the world. "'And as for going on your wild flight, "'have you forgotten our pretty blue eggs "'in their soft brown nest?' "'I am a king,' said Philippe in a day's wonderment. "'My darling Avril, tell me what I can do "'to show my gratitude to all my servants. "'They love nothing better than that you use them, Philippe. "'Use them wisely and well, "'and not only for yourself, but for others. "'And gentle spring kissed him upon the lips, "'filling his heart with love and happiness. "'It is high time,' said Philippe's mother to Philippe's father, "'that our little one was back. Soon it will be dark. "'She went to the doorway and gazed across the fields. "'Here comes Pablo,' she called back into the room, "'and he is carrying the child in his arms. "'Shhh,' breathed Uncle Pablo, drawing close. "'Take your son gently into your arms. "'He has been sleeping bravely all the way "'from his grandparents, and here,' said Uncle Pablo, "'is his little silver whistle, "'by which I hope that he will remember me "'when he wakes up and finds me gone.'" THE END