“It is I, it is Pea-Blossom,” replied a low, sweet voice. “Oh, do come and get me out of this fix, Master Luck of the Bean-rows. It is easy as wishing and will cost you nothing.”
“Believe me, madam,” said the Luck, “it is not my way to count the cost when I can help. Whatever I have is yours to command, except these three quart measures of beans on my staff; they are not mine, they belong to father and mother. Mine I have just given away to a venerable owl, to a saintly wolf, who is preaching like a hermit, and to the most charming of mountain does. I have not a bean left that I can offer you.”
“You are laughing at me,” returned Pea-Blossom, somewhat displeased. “Who spoke of beans, sir? I have no need for your beans; they are not known in my household. The service you can do me is to turn the door handle of my carriage and throw back the hood—it is nearly smothering me.”
“I shall be delighted, madam,” said Luck of the Bean-rows, “if I could only discover your carriage. No trace of a carriage here! And no room to drive on such a narrow path. Still I shall soon find it, for I can hear that you are quite close to me.”
“What!” she cried with a merry laugh, “You cannot see my carriage! Why you almost trampled on it, running up in your wild way. It is right in front of you, dear Luck of the Bean-rows. You can tell it by its elegant appearance, which is something like a dwarf pea.”
“It is so like a chick pea,” thought the Luck as he bent down, “that if I hadn’t looked very close I should have taken it for nothing but a chick pea.”
One glance, however, showed him that it was really a very large dwarf pea, round as an orange, yellow as a lemon, mounted on four little golden wheels, equipped with a dainty “boot,” or hold-all, made of a tiny peascod as bright and green as morocco.
He touched the handle; the door flew open; and Pea-Blossom sprang out like a grain of touch-me-not, and lighted nimbly and gaily on her feet.
