"Yes, Your Majesty; if you will give your kingly word that the truce shall last until the story be finished," replied Harold.
"Ho-hum!" the Red King hesitated. He mumbled and he grumbled; he winked and he blinked. But at last he said grudgingly, "Well, I promise. No soldier shall advance, no weapon shall be discharged until I have heard the tale of your Wonder-Garden."
With this promise, Harold joyfully hastened back to the beleaguered city. Kisington was safe for another day! The Lord Mayor and the Librarian shook hands and went to congratulate Harold's mother.
As for Red Rex, he dreamed that Harold had bewitched him with a red-and-gold book; as perhaps he had done. Were not Richard and Robert at that moment clapping Harold on the shoulder and declaring that he was indeed a "Book-Wizard"? This is the tale which Harold read to Red Rex on the following day; the story of The Wonder-Garden.
VIII. THE WONDER-GARDEN
There never were seen such beautiful gardens as bloomed in Kisington-by-the-Sea. Not only every chateau and villa had its parterres spread with blooming rugs of all colors; but each white-washed cottage, every thatched hut, boasted its garden-plot of dainty posies. Each had some quaint device or some special beauty which distinguished it from the others. For there was great horticultural rivalry in Kisington-by-the-Sea.
Now this was all because Hugh, the Lord Mayor, who was very fond of flowers, had offered a prize for the prettiest garden in the town. The Lord Mayor himself lived on a hill in the center of the town, in the midst of the most beautiful garden of all. It flowed down the hillside from the summit in ripples of radiant color,--roses and lilies, pinks and daffodils, larkspur and snapdragon. All the flowers of the land were there, and many foreigners beside.
Through the garden wound the yellow driveway by which the Lord Mayor passed in his golden coach. He loved to drive slowly down this road, sniffing the fragrance of his flowers; and then out through the streets of the town, observing the beautiful gardens on every hand,--the result of his own love for flowers.
When the Lord Mayor saw all the fair maidens down on their knees in the flower-beds, watering the buds with their little green water-pots, nipping off dead leaves, pulling up scrawny weeds, coaxing the delicate creepers to climb, he would rub his hands and say:--