“Ah, this is as it should be!” cried the delighted Toby. “I shall never grumble again if I am to live like this. Here are guns to shoot with; dogs to hunt with; horses to ride, and plenty of fishing in the lake. Ah! I shall be thoroughly satisfied now.” And the Growler set about enjoying himself.
But alas! for human resolves. The fruit made [[87]]Toby ill; one of the horses threw him and hurt his leg; he nearly shot himself with his gun; and was all but drowned in the lake while fishing; and so he began to complain worse than before. But the moment he did so, the splendid scene vanished from before him in the twinkling of an eye, and he discovered himself in the bare and empty room again, with only his dirty rags, and the dwarf standing grinning beside him.
“Come along with me, Toby the Growler,” cried the old fellow in a mocking tone; and before the boy could refuse he was borne away to the palace of Try. This old and venerable sparrow was deep in the pages of the Observer when Grip entered with Toby.
“Whom have we here?” he inquired, addressing the dwarf.
“Please, your Worship, this is a mortal who has been tested by your Worship’s brother, and has failed,” answered Grip.
“What is his special defect?”
“Grumbling, your Worship.”
“Humph! a common quality among mortals, more especially with farmers and boys. Try him without delay.”
With the quickness of a shifting scene in a [[88]]magic-lantern Toby was transferred to a cottage in a lonely valley, occupied by an old lady and gentleman, who welcomed him as if he had been their own son, and procured for him all that he could desire. The whole day was one round of pleasure and enjoyment, and the boy expressed himself grateful and satisfied with his position. One simple act he had to perform in return for all this kindness, and that was to draw seven buckets of water from a well every morning, for the use of the cottage. Yet Toby the Growler, unmindful of past experience, began to grumble again, and once more he found himself by the lake with the dwarf at his elbow.
“For the last time, come with me, Toby the Growler,” he cried in a terrible voice, while his red flaming eyes shot out flashes like fire. The boy felt utterly powerless to resist, and swift as a streak of lightning he was carried to the gloomy abode of Cure, the youngest of the three sparrows. The castle was as dark as a dungeon, but the guide found his way within to the reception-hall, where Cure, in regal feathers, sat surrounded by a guard of crows bearing torches.