“Come of this what must come!” he said, “but I do badly want a tent to shelter me to-night, were it only a cluster of peas in flower; a little supper to keep me going, were it but a bowl of pea soup sweetened, and a bed to lie upon, if only one feather of a hummingbird—and all the more as I cannot get back home to-day I am so worn out with hunger and aching fatigue.”
The words had scarcely left his lips when he saw rising out of the sand a splendid pavilion in the shape of a pergola of sweet peas. It grew up, it spread; from point to point it was supported upon ten props of gold; it dropped down leafy curtains strewn with pea-blossom; it curved into numberless arches, and from the centre of each hung a crystal lustre set with perfumed wax lights.
The background of this arcade was lined with Venetian mirrors, which reflected a blaze of light that would have dazzled a seven-year-old eagle a league away.
From overhead a pea leaf dropped by chance at the Luck’s feet. It spread out into a magnificent carpet variegated with all the colours of the rainbow and many more. Around its border stood little round tables loaded with pastry and sweetmeats; and iced fruits in gilded porcelain cups encircled a brimming bowl of sweet-pea soup, sprinkled over with currants black as jet, green pistachio nuts, coriander comfits and slices of pineapple. Amid all this gorgeous show the Luck quickly discovered his bed, and that was the hummingbird’s feather which he had wished for. It sparkled in a corner like a jewel dropped from the crown of the Grand Mogul, although it was so tiny that a grain of millet might have concealed it.
At first he thought this pigmy bed was not quite in keeping with the rich furnishing of the pavilion, but the longer he looked at it, the larger it grew, till humming-birds’ feathers were soon lying knee-deep on the floor—a dream-couch of topazes so soft, sapphires so yielding, opals so elastic, that a butterfly would have sunk deep if he had lighted on them.
“That will do, that will do,” cried the Luck of the Bean-rows; “I shall sleep too soundly as it is.”
I need not say that our traveller did justice to the feast that was spread for him, and lost no time in preparing for bed. Thoughts of love ran through his mind, but at twelve years of age, love does not keep one awake; and Pea-Blossom, of whom he had had only a glimpse, had left him with no more than the impression of a delightful dream, the enchantment of which could only return in sleep. Another good reason for going to sleep if you have remembrances like mine.
The Luck of the Bean-rows, however, was too cautious to yield to these idle fancies until he had made sure that all was safe outside the pavilion, the very splendour of which was likely to attract all the thieves and vagabonds for miles round. You will find them in every country.
So, with his weeding-hook in his hand as usual, he passed out of the magic circle, to make the round of his tent and see that all was quiet.