<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2></div>
<p class='dropcapq'><small>“</small><span class='drop'>G</span><span class='dcap'>ranny</span>,” said Toto the next day, when the
afternoon shadows began to lengthen, “I
am expecting some friends here this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Some friends, Toto!” exclaimed his grandmother
in astonishment. “My dear boy, what
friend have you in the world except your old
Granny? You are laughing at me.”</p>
<p>“No, I am not, Granny,” said the boy. “Of
course you are the <i>best</i> friend, very much the
best; but I have some other very good ones.
And I have told them about your being lonely,”
he went on hurriedly, glancing towards the wood,
“and they are coming to see you this afternoon,
to talk to you and tell you stories. In fact, I
think I hear one of them coming now.”</p>
<p>“But <i>who are they</i>?” cried the astonished old
woman, putting her hand up at the same time to
settle her cap straight, and smoothing her apron,
in great trepidation at the approach of these unexpected
visitors.</p>
<p>“Oh,” said Toto, “they are—here is one of
them!” and he ran to meet the huge bear, who at
that moment made his appearance, walking slowly
and solemnly towards the cottage. He seemed ill
at ease, and turned frequently to look back, in
hopes of seeing his companions.</p>
<p>“Grandmother, this is my friend Bruin!” said
Toto, leading the bear up to the horrified old lady.
“I am very fond of Bruin,” he added, “and I
hope you and he will be great friends. He tells
the most <i>delightful</i> stories.”</p>
<p>Poor Granny made a trembling courtesy, and
Bruin stood up on his hind-legs and rocked slowly
backwards and forwards, which was the nearest
approach he could make to a bow. (N. B. He
looked so very formidable in this attitude, that if
the old lady had seen him, she would certainly
have fainted away. But she did not see, and
Toto was used to it, and saw nothing out of the
way in it.)</p>
<p>“Your servant, ma’am,” said the bear. “I hope
I see you well.”</p>
<p>Granny courtesied again, and replied in a faltering
voice, “Quite well, thank you, Mr. Bruin. It’s—it’s
a fine day, sir.”</p>
<p>“It is indeed!” said the bear with alacrity. “It
is a <i>very</i> fine day. I was just about to make the
same remark myself. I—don’t know when I
have seen a finer day. In fact, I don’t believe
there ever <i>was</i> a finer day. A—yesterday was—a—<i>not</i>
a fine day. A—</p>
<p>“Look here!” he added, in a low growl, aside
to Toto, “I can’t stand much more of this. Where
is Coon? He knows how to talk to people, and I
don’t. I’m not accustomed to it. Now, when I
go to see <i>my</i> grandmother, I take her a good
bone, and she hits me on the head by way of saying
thank you, and that’s all. I have a bone
somewhere about me now,” said poor Bruin hesitatingly,
“but I don’t suppose she—eh?”</p>
<p>“No, certainly not!” replied Toto promptly.
“Not upon any account. And here’s Coon now,
and the others too, so you needn’t make any
more fine speeches.”</p>
<p>Bruin, much relieved, sat down on his haunches,
and watched the approach of his companions.</p>
<p>The raccoon advanced cautiously, yet with a
very jaunty air. The squirrel was perched on his
back, and the wood-pigeon fluttered about his head,
in company with a very distinguished-looking gray
parrot, with a red tail; while behind came a fat
woodchuck, who seemed scarcely more than half-awake.</p>
<p>The creatures all paid their respects to Toto’s
grandmother, each in his best manner; the raccoon
professed himself charmed to make her acquaintance.
“It is more than a year,” he said,
“since I had the pleasure of meeting your accomplished
grandson. I have esteemed it a high privilege
to converse with him, and have enjoyed his
society immensely. Now that I have the further
happiness of becoming acquainted with his elegant
and highly intellectual progenitress, I feel that I
am indeed most fortunate. I—”</p>
<p>But here Toto broke in upon the stream of eloquence.
“Oh, <i>come</i>, Coon!” he cried, “your
politeness is as bad as Bruin’s shyness. Why
can’t we all be jolly, as we usually are? You need
not be afraid of Granny.</p>
<p>“Come,” he continued, “let us have our story.
We can all sit down in a circle, and fancy ourselves
around the pool. Whose turn is it to-day? Yours,
isn’t it, Cracker?”</p>
<p>“No,” said the squirrel. “It is Coon’s turn.
I told my story yesterday.”</p>
<p>“You see, Granny,” said Toto, turning to his
grandmother, “we take turns in telling stories,
every afternoon. It is <i>such</i> fun! you’d like to
hear a story, wouldn’t you, Granny?”</p>
<p>“Very much indeed!” replied the good woman.
“Will you take a chair, Mr.—Mr. Coon?” she
asked.</p>
<p>“Thank you, no,” replied the raccoon graciously.
“My mother earth shall suffice me.”
And sitting down, he curled up his tail in a
very effective manner, and looked about him
meditatively, as if in search of a subject for his
story.</p>
<p>“My natural diffidence,” he said, “will render
it a difficult task, but still—”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, we know!” said the squirrel. “Your
natural diffidence is a fine thing. Go ahead, old
fellow!”</p>
<p>At this moment Mr. Coon’s sharp eyes fell upon
the poultry-yard, on the fence of which a fine
Shanghai cock was sitting. His face lighted up,
as if an idea had just struck him. “That is a very
fine rooster, madam!” he said, addressing the
grandmother,—“a remarkably fine bird. That
bird, madam, reminds me strongly of the Golden-breasted
Kootoo.”</p>
<p>“And what is the Golden-breasted Kootoo?”
asked the grandmother.</p>
<p>The raccoon smiled, and looked slyly round
upon his auditors, who had all assumed comfortable
attitudes of listening, sure that the story was
now coming.</p>
<p>“The story of the Golden-breasted Kootoo,” he
said, “was told to me several years ago by a distinguished
foreigner, a learned and highly accomplished
magpie, who formerly resided in this
vicinity, but who is now, unhappily, no longer in
our midst.”</p>
<p>“That’s a good one, that is!” whispered the
wood chuck to Toto. “He ate that magpie about
a year ago; said he loved her so much he couldn’t
help it. What a fellow he is!”</p>
<p>“Hush!” said Toto. “He’s beginning!”</p>
<p>And Mr. Coon, dropping his airs and graces,
told his story in tolerably plain language, as
follows:—</p>
<h3>THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO.</h3>
<p>Once upon a time—and a good time it was—there
lived a king. I do not know exactly what
his name was, or just where he lived; but it doesn’t
matter at all: his kingdom was somewhere between
Ashantee and Holland, and his name sounded a
little like Samuel, and a little like Dolabella, and a
good deal like Chimborazo, and yet it was not quite
any of them. But, as I said before, it doesn’t matter.
We will call him the King, and that will be
all that is necessary, as there is no other king in
the story.</p>
<p>This King was very fond of music; in fact, he
was excessively fond of it. He kept four bands of
music playing all day long. The first was a brass
band, the second was a string band, the third was
a rubber band, and the fourth was a man who
played on the jews-harp. (Some people thought
he ought not to be called a band, but he said he
was all the jews-harp band there was, and that was
very true.) The four bands played all day long
on the four sides of the grand courtyard, and the
king sat on a throne in the middle and transacted
affairs of state. And when His Majesty went to
bed at night, the grand chamberlain wound up a
musical-box that was in his pillow, and another one
in the top bureau-drawer, and they played “The
Dog’s-meat Man” and “Pride of the Pirate’s
Heart” till daylight did appear.</p>
<p>One day it occurred to the King that it would be
an excellent plan for him to learn to sing. He
wondered that he had never thought of it before.
“You see,” he said, “it would amuse me very much
to sing while I am out hunting. I cannot take the
bands with me to the forest, for they would frighten
away the wild beasts; and I miss my music very
much on such occasions. Yes, decidedly, I will
learn to sing.”</p>
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<div class='figtag'>
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<br/>
<p class='caption'>
“Take this man and behead him!” said the King.<br/></p>
</div>
<p>So he sent for the Chief Musician, and
ordered him to teach him to sing. The Chief
Musician was delighted, and said they would begin
at once. So he sat down at the piano, and struck
a note. “O King,” he said, “please sing this
note.” And the King sang, in a loud, deep voice,
<ANTIMG src="images/i005c.png" title="Treble clef B" alt="" class="embed" />
The Chief Musician was enchanted.
“Superb!” he cried. “Magnificent!
Now, O King, please to sing <i>this</i> note!” and he
struck another note:
<ANTIMG src="images/i005b.png" title="Bass clef G" alt="" class="embed" />
The King sang,
in a loud, deep voice,
<ANTIMG src="images/i005c.png" title="Treble clef B" alt="" class="embed" />
The Chief Musician looked grave.
“O King,” he said, “you did not quite understand
me. We will try another note.” And he
struck another:
<ANTIMG src="images/i006b.png" title="Treble clef C" alt="" class="embed" />
The King sang, in
a loud, deep voice,
<ANTIMG src="images/i005c.png" title="Treble clef B" alt="" class="embed" />
The Chief Musician looked dejected.
“I fear, O King,” he said, “that you can never
learn to sing.” “What do you mean by that,
Chief Musician?” asked the King. “It is your
business to teach me to sing. Do you not know
how to teach?” “No man knows better,” replied
the Chief Musician. “But Your Majesty has
no ear for music. You never can sing but one
note.”</p>
<p>At these words the King grew purple in the face.
He said nothing, for he was a man of few words;
but he rang a large bell, and an executioner appeared.
“Take this man and behead him!” said
the King. “And send me the Second Musician!”</p>
<p>The Second Musician came, looking very grave,
for he had heard the shrieks of his unhappy superior
as he was dragged off to execution, and he had
no desire to share his fate. He bowed low, and
demanded His Majesty’s pleasure. “Teach me to
sing!” said His Majesty. So the Second Musician
sat down at the piano, and tried several notes, just
as the Chief Musician had done, and with the same
result. Whatever note was struck, the King still
sang,
<ANTIMG src="images/i005c.png" title="Treble clef B" alt="" class="embed" /></p>
<p>Now the Second Musician was a quick-witted
fellow, and he saw in a moment what the trouble
had been with his predecessor, and saw, too, what
great peril he was in himself. So he assumed a
look of grave importance, and said solemnly,
“O King, this is a very serious matter. I cannot
conceal from you that there are great obstacles in
the way of your learning to sing—” The King
looked at the bell. “<span class='smcap'>But</span>,” said the Second Musician,
“they can be overcome.” The King looked
away again. “I beg,” said the Second Musician,
“for twenty-four hours’ time for consideration. At
the end of that time I shall have decided upon the
best method of teaching; and I am bound to say
this to Your Majesty, that <span class='smcap'>if</span> you learn to sing—”
“<span class='smcap'>What?”</span> said the King, looking at the bell
again. “That <span class='smcaplc'>WHEN</span> you learn to sing,” said the
Second Musician hastily,—“<i>when</i> you learn to
sing, your singing will be like no other that has
ever been heard.” This pleased the King, and he
graciously accorded the desired delay.</p>
<p>Accordingly the Second Musician took his leave
with great humility, and spent all that night and
the following day plunged in the deepest thought.
As soon as the twenty-four hours had elapsed he
again appeared before the King, who was awaiting
him impatiently, sitting on the music-stool.
“Well?” said the King. “Quite well, O King, I
thank you,” replied the Second Musician, “though
somewhat fatigued by my labors.” “Pshaw!”
said the King impatiently. “Have you found a
way of teaching me to sing?” “I have, O King,”
replied the Second Musician solemnly; “but it is
not an easy way. Nevertheless it is the only one.”
The King assured him that money was no object,
and begged him to unfold his plan. “In order to
learn to sing,” said the Second Musician, “you
must eat a pie composed of all the singing-birds in
the world. In this way only can the difficulty
of your having no natural ear for music be overcome.
If a single bird is omitted, or if you do not
consume the whole pie, the charm will have no
effect. I leave Your Majesty to judge of the
difficulty of the undertaking.”</p>
<p>Difficulty? The King would not admit that
there was such a word. He instantly summoned
his Chief Huntsman, and ordered him to send
other huntsmen to every country in the world, to
bring back a specimen of every kind of singing-bird.
Accordingly, as there were sixty countries
in the world at that time, sixty huntsmen started
off immediately, fully armed and equipped.</p>
<p>After they were gone, the King, who was very
impatient, summoned his Wise Men, and bade
them look in all the books, and find out how
many kinds of singing-birds there were in the
world. The Wise Men all put their spectacles
on their noses, and their noses into their books,
and after studying a long time, and adding up
on their slates the number of birds described in
each book, they found that there were in all nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine varieties
of singing-birds.</p>
<p>They made their report to the King, and he
was rather troubled by it; for he remembered
that the Second Musician had said he must eat
every morsel of the pie himself, or the charm
would have no effect. It would be a <i>very</i> large
pie, he thought, with nine thousand nine hundred
and ninety-nine birds in it. “The only way,” he
said to himself, “will be for me to eat as little as
possible until the huntsmen come back; then I
shall be very hungry. I have never been <i>very</i>
hungry in my life, so there is no knowing how
much I could eat if I were.” So the King ate
nothing from one week’s end to another, except
bread and dripping; and by the time the huntsmen
returned he was so thin that it was really
shocking.</p>
<p>At last, after a long time, the sixty huntsmen
returned, laden down with huge bags, the contents
of which they piled up in a great heap in the
middle of the courtyard. A mountain of birds!
Such a thing had never been seen before. The
mountain was so high that everybody thought the
full number of birds must be there; and the Chief
Cook began to make his preparations, and sent to
borrow the garden roller from John the gardener,
as his own was not big enough to roll out such a
quantity of paste.</p>
<p>The King and the Wise Men next proceeded to
count the birds. But alas! what was their sorrow
to find that the number fell short by one! They
counted again and again; but it was of no use:
there were only nine thousand nine hundred and
ninety-eight birds in the pile.</p>
<p>The next thing was to find out what bird was
missing. So the Wise Men sorted all the birds,
and compared them with the pictures in the books,
and studied so hard that they wore out three pairs
of spectacles apiece; and at last they discovered
that the missing bird was the “Golden breasted
Kootoo.” The chief Wise Man read aloud from
the biggest book:—</p>
<p>“The Golden-breasted Kootoo, the most beautiful
and the most melodious of singing birds,
is found only in secluded parts of the Vale of
Coringo. Its plumage is of a brilliant golden
yellow, except on the back, where it is streaked
with green. Its beak is—”</p>
<p>“There! there!” interrupted the King impatiently;
“never mind about its beak. Tell the
Lord Chamberlain to pack my best wig and a clean
shirt, and send them after me by a courier; and,
Chief Huntsman, follow me. We start this moment
for the Vale of Coringo!”</p>
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<div class='figtag'>
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<ANTIMG src='images/i007.png' alt='' title='' width-obs='421' height-obs='299' />
<br/>
<p class='caption'>
“He rode on horseback, and was accompanied only by the Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band.”<br/></p>
</div>
<p>And actually, if you will believe it, the King
<i>did</i> start off in less than an hour from the counting
of the birds. He rode on horseback, and was accompanied
only by the Chief Huntsman and the
jews-harp band, the courier being obliged to wait
for the King’s best wig to be curled.</p>
<p>The poor Band had a hard time of it; for he
had a very frisky horse, and found it extremely
difficult to manage the beast with one hand and
hold the jews-harp with the other; but the King,
with much ingenuity, fastened the head of the
horse to the tail of his own steady cob, thereby
enabling the musician to give all his attention to
his instrument. The music was a trifle jerky at
times; but what of that? It was music, and the
King was satisfied.</p>
<p>They rode night and day, and at length arrived
at the Vale of Coringo, and took lodgings at
the principal hotel. The King was very weary,
as he had been riding for a week without stopping.
So he went to bed at once, and slept for
two whole days.</p>
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<br/>
<p class='caption'>
“Seizing his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.”<br/></p>
</div>
<p>On the morning of the third day he was roused
from a wonderful dream (in which he was singing
a duet with the Golden-breasted Kootoo, to a
jews-harp accompaniment) by the sound of music.
The King sat up in bed, and listened. It was a
bird’s song that he heard, and it seemed to come
from the vines outside his window. But what a
song it was! And what a bird it must be that
could utter such wondrous
sounds! He listened,
too enchanted to
move, while the magical
song swelled louder
and clearer, filling the
air with melody.
At last
he rose, and
crept softly
to the window.
There,
on a swinging vine, sat a beautiful bird, all golden
yellow, with streaks of green on its back. It was
the Golden-breasted Kootoo! There could be no
doubt about it, even if its marvellous song had
not announced it as the sweetest singer of the
whole world. Very quietly, but trembling with
excitement, the King put on his slippers and his
flowered dressing-gown, and seizing his gun, he
hastily descended the stairs.</p>
<p>It was early dawn, and nobody was awake in
the hotel except the Boots, who was blacking his
namesakes in the back hall. He saw the King
come down, and thought he had come to get his
boots; but the monarch paid no attention to him,
quietly unbolted the front door, and slipped out
into the garden. Was he too late? Had the
bird flown? No, the magic song still rose from
the vines outside his chamber-window. But even
now, as the King approached, a fluttering was
heard, and the Golden-breasted Kootoo, spreading
its wings, flew slowly away over the garden wall,
and away towards the mountain which rose just
behind the hotel. The King followed, clambering
painfully over the high wall, and leaving fragments
of his brocade dressing-gown on the sharp
spikes which garnished it. Once over, he made
all speed, and found that he could well keep the
bird in sight, for it was flying very slowly. A
provoking bird it was, to be sure! It would fly a
little way, and then, alighting on a bush or hanging
spray, would pour forth a flood of melody, as
if inviting its pursuer to come nearer; but before
the unhappy King could get within gunshot, it
would flutter slowly onward, keeping just out of
reach, and uttering a series of mocking notes,
which seemed to laugh at his efforts. On and on
flew the bird, up the steep mountain; on and on
went the King in pursuit. It is all very well to
<i>fly</i> up a mountain; but to crawl and climb up, with
a heavy gun in one’s hand, and one’s dressing-gown
catching on every sharp point of rock, and
the tassel of one’s nightcap bobbing into one’s
eyes, is a very different matter, I can tell you.
But the King never thought of stopping for an
instant; not he! He lost first one slipper, and
then the other; the cord and tassels of his dressing-gown
tripped him up, so that he fell and
almost broke his nose; and finally his gun slipped
from his hold and went crashing down over a
precipice; but still the King climbed on and on,
breathless but undaunted.</p>
<p>At length, at the very top of the mountain, as
it seemed, the bird made a longer pause than
usual. It lighted on a point of rock, and folding
its wings, seemed really to wait for the King,
singing, meanwhile, a song of the most inviting
and encouraging description. Nearer and nearer
crept the King, and still the bird did not move.
He was within arm’s-length, and was just stretching
out his arm to seize the prize, when it fluttered
off the rock. Frantic with excitement, the
King made a desperate clutch after it, and—</p>
<h3>PART II.</h3>
<p>At eight o’clock the landlady knocked at the
King’s door. “Hot water, Your Majesty,” she
said. “Shall I bring the can in? And the Band
desires his respects, and would you wish him to
play while you are a-dressing, being as you didn’t
bring a music-box with you?”</p>
<p>Receiving no answer, after knocking several
times, the good woman opened the door very
cautiously, and peeped in, fully expecting to see
the royal nightcap reposing calmly on the pillow.
What was her amazement at finding the room
empty; no sign of the King was to be seen,
although his pink-silk knee-breeches lay on a
chair, and his ermine mantle and his crown were
hanging on a peg against the wall.</p>
<p>The landlady gave the alarm at once. The
King had disappeared! He had been robbed,
murdered; the assassins had chopped him up into
little pieces and carried him away in a bundle-handkerchief!
“Murder! police! fire!!!!”</p>
<p>In the midst of the wild confusion the voice
of the Boots was heard. “Please, ’m, I see
His Majesty go out at about five o’clock this
morning.”</p>
<p>Again the chorus rose: he had run away; he
had gone to surprise and slay the King of Coringo
while he was taking his morning chocolate; he
had gone to take a bath in the river, and was
drowned! “Murder! police!”</p>
<p>The voice of the Boots was heard again. “And
please, ’m, he’s a sittin’ out in the courtyard now;
and please, ’m, I think he’s crazy!”</p>
<p>Out rushed everybody, pell-mell, into the courtyard.
There, on the ground, sat the King, with
his tattered dressing-gown wrapped majestically
about him. An ecstatic smile illuminated his face,
while he clasped in his arms a large bird with
shining plumage.</p>
<p>“Bless me!” cried the poultry-woman. “If he
hasn’t got my Shanghai rooster that I couldn’t
catch last night!”</p>
<p>The King, hearing voices, looked round, and
smiled graciously on the astonished crowd.
“Good people,” he said, “success has crowned my
efforts. I have found the Golden-breasted Kootoo!
You shall all have ten pounds apiece, in
honor of this joyful event, and the landlady shall
be made a baroness in her own right!”</p>
<p>“But,” said the poultry-woman, “it is my
Shang—”</p>
<p>“Be still, you idiot!” whispered the landlady,
putting her hand over the woman’s mouth. “Do
you want to lose your ten pounds and your head
too? If the King has caught the Golden-breasted
Kootoo, why, then it <i>is</i> the Golden-breasted Kootoo,
as sure as I am a baroness!” and she added
in a still lower tone, “There hasn’t been a Kootoo
seen in the Vale for ten years; the birds have
died out.”</p>
<p>Great were the rejoicings at the palace when
the King returned in triumph, bringing with him
the much-coveted prize, the Golden-breasted Kootoo.
The bands played until they almost killed
themselves; the cooks waved their ladles and set
to work at once on the pie; the huntsmen sang
hunting-songs. All was joy and rapture, except
in the breast of one man; that man was the Second
Musician, or, as we should now call him, the
Chief Musician. He felt no thrill of joy at sight of
the wondrous bird; on the contrary, he made his
will, and prepared to leave the country at once;
but when the pie was finished, and he saw its huge
dimensions, he was comforted. “No man,” he said
to himself, “can eat the whole of that pie and
live!”</p>
<p>Alas! he was right. The unhappy King fell a
victim to his musical ambition before he had half
finished his pie, and died in a fit. His subjects ate
the remainder of the mighty pasty, with mingled
tears and smiles, as a memorial feast; and if the
Golden-breasted Kootoo <i>was</i> a Shanghai rooster,
nobody in the kingdom was ever the wiser for it.</p>
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