火爆小说网

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第14部分（第2页）

“Well，　really，”　said　the　Water…rat，　in　a　very　angry　manner，　“I　think　you　should　have　told　me　that　before　you　began。　If　you　had　done　so，　I　certainly　would　not　have　listened　to　you；　in　fact，　I　should　have　said　‘Pooh，’　like　the　critic。　However，　I　can　say　it　now；”　so　he　shouted　out　“Pooh”　at　the　top　of　his　voice，　gave　a　whisk　with　his　tail，　and　went　back　into　his　hole。

“And　how　do　you　like　the　Water…rat？”　asked　the　Duck，　who　came　paddling　up　some　minutes　afterwards。　“He　has　a　great　many　good　points，　but　for　my　own　part　I　have　a　mother’s　feelings，　and　I　can　never　look　at　a　confirmed　bachelor　without　the　tears　ing　into　my　eyes。”

“I　am　rather　afraid　that　I　have　annoyed　him，”　answered　the　Lin。　“The　fact　is，　that　I　told　him　a　story　with　a　moral。”

“Ah！　that　is　always　a　very　dangerous　thing　to　do，”　said　the　Duck。

And　I　quite　agree　with　her。

★、The　Remarkable　RocketThe　King’s　son　was　going　to　be　married，　so　there　were　general　rejoicings。　He　had　waited　a　whole　year　for　his　bride，　and　at　last　she　had　arrived。　She　was　a　Russian　Princess，　and　had　driven　all　the　way　from　Finland　in　a　sledge　drawn　by　six　reindeer。　The　sledge　was　shaped　like　a　great　golden　swan，　and　between　the　swan’s　wings　lay　the　little　Princess　herself。　Her　long　ermine　cloak　reached　right　down　to　her　feet，　on　her　head　was　a　tiny　cap　of　silver　tissue，　and　she　was　as　pale　as　the　Snow　Palace　in　which　she　had　always　lived。　So　pale　was　she　that　as　she　drove　through　the　streets　all　the　people　wondered。　“She　is　like　a　white　rose！”　they　cried，　and　they　threw　down　flowers　on　her　from　the　balconies。

At　the　gate　of　the　Castle　the　Prince　was　waiting　to　receive　her。　He　had　dreamy　violet　eyes，　and　his　hair　was　like　fine　gold。　When　he　saw　her　he　sank　upon　one　knee，　and　kissed　her　hand。

“Your　picture　was　beautiful，”　he　murmured，　“but　you　are　more　beautiful　than　your　picture；”　and　the　little　Princess　blushed。

“She　was　like　a　white　rose　before，”　said　a　young　Page　to　his　neighbour，　“but　she　is　like　a　red　rose　now；”　and　the　whole　Court　was　delighted。

For　the　next　three　days　everybody　went　about　saying，　“White　rose，　Red　rose，　Red　rose，　White　rose；”　and　the　King　gave　orders　that　the　Page’s　salary　was　to　be　doubled。　As　he　received　no　salary　at　all　this　was　not　of　much　use　to　him，　but　it　was　considered　a　great　honour，　and　was　duly　published　in　the　Court　Gazette。

When　the　three　days　were　over　the　marriage　was　celebrated。　It　was　a　magnificent　ceremony，　and　the　bride　and　bridegroom　walked　hand　in　hand　under　a　canopy　of　purple　velvet　embroidered　with　little　pearls。　Then　there　was　a　State　Banquet，　which　lasted　for　five　hours。　The　Prince　and　Princess　sat　at　the　top　of　the　Great　Hall　and　drank　out　of　a　cup　of　clear　crystal。　Only　true　lovers　could　drink　out　of　this　cup，　for　if　false　lips　touched　it，　it　grew　grey　and　dull　and　cloudy。

“It’s　quite　clear　that　they　love　each　other，”　said　the　little　Page，　“as　clear　as　crystal！”　and　the　King　doubled　his　salary　a　second　time。　“What　an　honour！”　cried　all　the　courtiers。

After　the　banquet　there　was　to　be　a　Ball。　The　bride　and　bridegroom　were　to　dance　the　Rose…dance　together，　and　the　King　had　promised　to　play　the　flute。　He　played　very　badly，　but　no　one　had　ever　dared　to　tell　him　so，　because　he　was　the　King。　Indeed，　he　knew　only　two　airs，　and　was　never　quite　certain　which　one　he　was　playing；　but　it　made　no　matter，　for，　whatever　he　did，　everybody　cried　out，　“Charming！　charming！”

The　last　item　on　the　programme　was　a　grand　display　of　fireworks，　to　be　let　off　exactly　at　midnight。　The　little　Princess　had　never　seen　a　firework　in　her　life，　so　the　King　had　given　orders　that　the　Royal　Pyrotechnist　should　be　in　attendance　on　the　day　of　her　marriage。

“What　are　fireworks　like？”　she　had　asked　the　Prince，　one　morning，　as　she　was　walking　on　the　terrace。

“They　are　like　the　Aurora　Borealis，”　said　the　King，　who　always　answered　questions　that　were　addressed　to　other　people，　“only　much　more　natural。　I　prefer　them　to　stars　myself，　as　you　always　know　when　they　are　going　to　appear，　and　they　are　as　delightful　as　my　own　flute…playing。　You　must　certainly　see　them。”

So　at　the　end　of　the　King’s　garden　a　great　stand　had　been　set　up，　and　as　soon　as　the　Royal　Pyrotechnist　had　put　everything　in　its　proper　place，　the　fireworks　began　to　talk　to　each　other。

“The　world　is　certainly　very　beautiful，”　cried　a　little　Squib。　“Just　look　at　those　yellow　tulips。　Why！　if　they　were　real　crackers　they　could　not　be　lovelier。　I　am　very　glad　I　have　travelled。　Travel　improves　the　mind　wonderfully，　and　does　away　with　all　one’s　prejudices。”

“The　King’s　garden　is　not　the　world，　you　foolish　squib，”　said　a　big　Roman　Candle；　“the　world　is　an　enormous　place，　and　it　would　take　you　three　days　to　see　it　thoroughly。”

“Any　place　you　love　is　the　world　to　you，”　exclaimed　a　pensive　Catherine　Wheel，　who　had　been　attached　to　an　old　deal　box　in　early　life，　and　prided　herself　on　her　broken　heart；　“but　love　is　not　fashionable　any　more，　the　poets　have　killed　it。　They　wrote　so　much　about　it　that　nobody　believed　them，　and　I　am　not　surprised。　True　love　suffers，　and　is　silent。　I　remember　myself　once—But　it　is　no　matter　now。　Romance　is　a　thing　of　the　past。”

“Nonsense！”　said　the　Roman　Candle，　“Romance　never　dies。　It　is　like　the　moon，　and　lives　for　ever。　The　bride　and　bridegroom，　for　instance，　love　each　other　very　dearly。　I　heard　all　about　them　this　morning　from　a　brown…paper　cartridge，　who　happened　to　be　staying　in　the　same　drawer　as　myself，　and　knew　the　latest　Court　news。”

But　the　Catherine　Wheel　shook　her　head。　“Romance　is　dead，　Romance　is　dead，　Romance　is　dead，”　she　murmured。　She　was　one　of　those　people　who　think　that，　if　you　say　the　same　thing　over　and　over　a　great　many　times，　it　bees　true　in　the　end。

Suddenly，　a　sharp，　dry　cough　was　heard，　and　they　all　looked　round。

It　came　from　a　tall，　supercilious…looking　Rocket，　who　was　tied　to　the　end　of　a　long　stick。　He　always　coughed　before　he　made　any　observation，　so　as　to　attract　attention。

“Ahem！　ahem！”　he　said，　and　everybody　listened　except　the　poor　Catherine　Wheel，　who　was　still　shaking　her　head，　and　murmuring，　“Romance　is　dead。”

“Order！　order！”　cried　out　a　Cracker。　He　was　something　of　a　politician，　and　had　always　taken　a　prominent　part　in　the　local　elections，　so　he　knew　the　proper　Parliamentary　expressions　to　use。

“Quite　dead，”　whispered　the　Catherine　Wheel，　and　she　went　off　to　sleep。

As　soon　as　there　was　perfect　silence，　the　Rocket　coughed　a　third　time　and　began。　He　spoke　with　a　very　slow，　distinct　voice，　as　if　he　was　dictating　his　memoirs，　and　always　looked　over　the　shoulder　of　the　person　to　whom　he　was　talking。　In　fact，　he　had　a　most　distinguished　manner。

“How　fortunate　it　is　for　the

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