“Oh, Beader,” he called, determined to find out just what it was that gave forth the strange note. “Oh, Beader.”
But Beader was fast, fast asleep. So Dan said no more. And soon he, too, had followed the example of the little dragoon, while all through the valley went the voice that seemed never to sleep, saying “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock—”
CHAPTER XXIV
IN WHICH DAN IS PRESENTED WITH THE KEY TO THE VALLEY
Having tarried in Slumberland until well into the morning, Dan finally made known his intention of quitting it by rolling his head to one side, wrinkling the end of his long, funny nose, and puckering his forehead in the very same spot where his brow was adorned with a red polka dot. Still, he did not at once rouse himself. In fact, so to put it, he really awakened a bit at a time. And it was while he was not yet more than half, or, at the very most, only two-thirds awake, that he felt something tickling the tops of his knees. This caused him to wiggle the ends of his toes and to pucker his brow even more than before. But the tickling persisted and so, at last fully awakened, he opened his eyes and sat straight up between the tall stalks of corn.
“A good morning, Sir Clown,” cried a welcoming voice.
At the sound of it, Dan looked to the right and looked to the left. But naught could he see save the green of the corn and the splashes of sunlight that patterned the ground.
“Here we are—out here!” again called the voice. And looking down, Dan saw a most remarkable sight. There, drawn up in two lines along the ridge of his legs and extending well over his knees, were two entire companies of the Jumping Dragoons. He knew them at once, for all wore coats, caps and trousers that were exact copies of Beader’s; while, square at the head of them, astride a mouse in silver-trimmed trappings, was none other than that worthy, himself.
“My, my; we thought you never would waken!” exclaimed Dan’s guide of the night, “but now that you have, allow me to present my comrades of the Micetown Dragoons.” At the precise moment that Beader pronounced the “goons” in dragoons, he drew his sword from its scabbard and held it fixed at salute while, with a rattle and swish and a flourishing flip, all the rest of the mice followed suit.
“My respects to you to all and a good wish for each one,” returned Dan, as he bowed as best he could sitting down, “I assure you I am honored by this courtly attention.”
“Now then, fall out!” Beader commanded, “and make haste to bring forward our guest’s breakfast rations.” Off Dan’s legs they all tumbled; down past his feet they all went, and were soon coming back carrying whole dozens of morsels of cream cheese and cake. These they piled high in Dan’s willing lap and, a half-minute after, the clown was eating his fill while the red-coated dragoons perched upon his knees, feet and shoulders—visiting and chattering for quite all they were worth.