“Oh, let us stop here,” he said. “Mr. Toil would never dare show his face where there is music and dancing. We shall be safe enough here.”
Just then he looked at the fiddler. Whom should he see again but old Mr. Toil. He had a violin bow instead of a stick, but looked exactly like the old schoolmaster.
“Oh, dear me!” said Daffydowndilly, turning pale. “Is there nobody but Mr. Toil in the whole world! Who would have thought he could play a fiddle!”
“This is not your old schoolmaster,” said the stranger. “This is another brother of his. He calls himself Mr. Pleasure, but his real name is Toil. Those who know him best, say he is worse than any of his brothers.”
“Let us go a little farther,” said Daffydowndilly. “I don’t like the looks of this fiddler at all.”
So they went on through shady lanes and pleasant villages. Everywhere the sky was blue, the sun shone, and the birds sang. But go where they would, there was the image of old Mr. Toil. Whether they stopped at a cottage or a mansion, it was all the same. Sometimes they found him in the parlor, very often in the kitchen. He was sure to be there somewhere.
Daffydowndilly was very tired, and seeing some men lying in a shady place by the roadside, he cried,
“Oh, let us sit down and rest. Mr. Toil will never come here. He hates to see people resting.”
Just then he looked at one of the men. He seemed to be the laziest of all. Who should it be again, but the very image of old Mr. Toil.
“There is a very large family of these Toils,” said the stranger. “This is another one of the schoolmaster’s brothers. He is a very idle fellow and does nothing but have, what he calls, a good time, but I think he has a harder time than any of the others.”