"The rest of the children were in the other rooms, fast asleep in two-story cribs, and various dear little beds; and I left some of them laughing merrily in their sleep, by telling them one or two ridiculous anecdotes about your Majesty's stuffy old prime min——"
"Silence, Slyboots!" cried the Queen, trying not to laugh. "You shall not make fun of our minister to our face. Go and order the supper."
Slyboots grinned sideways at the maids of honor, but bowed, with a great show of penitence, to his Queen. Retiring from the presence, he placed a tiny bugle, fashioned out of a small honeysuckle, to his lips, and blew a shrill, peculiar blast.
It was perfectly well understood, for in an instant, a hundred small pink and white mushrooms sprang out of the earth, making the most delightful little tables imaginable, quite equal to the finest satin-wood, upon which the fairy servants and pages hastened to place dishes of rose-leaves filled with honey-dust, and golden buttercups of sparkling May-dew, which, having been bottled up for six weeks, foamed and effervesced, and gave out a most exquisite aroma.
This was for the young fairies, who cared only for sweets. The elderly fays were to be feasted upon broiled fly's legs, brought up hot, and each one was rolled up in a leaf of pepper-grass, which gave them a very piquant seasoning. These were garnished with small pearls, steeped and softened in crab-apple vinegar, sharp enough and sour enough to draw squeals from a Ja panese ambassador, who never smiles or squeals at any thing.
When all was ready, the fairies sat down at the tables, in pleasant little parties of four and six, while the band played the most admired fairy opera airs. But before the banquet was through, I am sadly afraid some of the gay young fellows forgot they were in the presence of ladies, they laughed so loud, and talked so much nonsense, and one of them came very near upsetting the table at which he sat, spilling his buttercup of dew all over the new gossamer dress of Lilliebelle, who was next to him.
But this was nothing to the uproar which arose when the old prime minister, who had been eating flies' legs, and little pearl pickles, till he could scarcely breathe, attempted to leave his seat. The little brown spider, sent by that mischievous Slyboots, had been hard at work fastening his wings together in a net, and then tying them in a most complicated cobweb knot to the honeysuckle vine just behind him. The old prime minister fairly howled with rage; he turned and twisted from side to side; he kicked and made awful faces at Slyboots, who was giggling and laughing, and shaking his wings with glee at a safe distance. An impudent mosquito came past, and sneered out in his abominable nasal drone, "You don't seem to like a net any better than I do;" while myriads of midges up in the air danced around him, singing, Why-don't-you-get-out? Why- don't-you-get-out? Why-don't-you- get-out? to which myriads of others answered, He-would-if-he-could-but- he-couldn't! He-would-if-he-could-but-he-couldn't! He-would-if-he- could-but-he-couldn't!
At last the Queen, who had been giving some private orders, inquired what all the noise and laughter meant; and, in great anger with Slyboots for thus turning her old prime minister into ridicule, ordered the saucy goblin to draw his sword and release the old minister. The young fairy knights hastened to help, for they all liked Slyboots, and a tremendous slashing and cutting at the cobweb net ensued, which speedily released the poor old prime minister, who went off breathing fury and vengeance.
But hark! What is that? A faint, far-off tramp is heard; the galloping hoofs of the steeds of the morning were sounding in the eastern sky, and the stir of their coming rustled the leaves that crowned the tops of the grand old trees. The first cock-crow was heard in the distance, and the fairy sentinels sounded the coming of the dawn loud and clear on their great morning-glory trumpets, from the top of old Crow Nest. The sky became dappled, and a rosy streak marched up to the zenith like the banner of a herald.
Up sprang the knights and ladies and mounted their chargers; the Queen and her maids entered their phaetons; the elderly fairies made what haste their dignity per mitted to their nutshells and four, and field-mice palfreys, and away they all sped; some through the air, some through the velvety grass; banners flying, and music playing, until naught was left but a shining trail that melted into the first bright golden beam of the morning.