“And now, in conclusion,” said the mayor, “I have, in the name of all our villages, the honor of presenting Diggeldy Dan, with the key to the Valley of Tick Tock.” As he said this he lifted one hand in signal toward the companies of Jumping Dragoons. Instantly Dan saw that the red-coated ones had taken hold of that end of the string which lay nearest them. Now they ran outward quite as if they were playing at tug-of-war. At the same moment the string tightened in the pulley, and then—up from the table came the flag. As it unfurled to the breeze, Dan saw that its emblem was a sheaf of bright yellow wheat. Under the flag hung a bit of free string and, fast to the end of it—spinning and glittering as it came—was a golden key scarcely longer than Dan’s little finger! In a second the key had been drawn up on a level with his face and, prompted by Beader, the clown untied it amid wave upon wave of heartiest cheers and the gayest of gala-day music.
While the huzzas were in progress any who were not looking at Dan might have noted that the four on the platform were in close consultation. A moment later Mayor Mouser again waved for attention.
“I am happy to say that I have still another announcement to make,” said he, when silence had fallen. “Of course the greater part of our guest’s day and evening will be taken up with the tour of the valley. But this, as we all know, being Clock Day Night, I ask that all of you who can possibly do so, be in the square at midnight. For it has been unanimously decided that Diggeldy Dan is to accompany us to Hear the Clock Strike One!”
Cheer after cheer greeted this news. Again Dan was reminded of the queer tower that he had seen among the trees when he first entered the valley. Again he recalled the strange sound that had lulled him to sleep. He wondered if these things were to play a part in the promised adventure. But there was no time to ask. Already Beader had descended to the ground and was bringing the dragoons to attention; already a new procession was being formed to escort Dan on his tour through the Valley of Tick Tock.
Now Bounder had begun to twirl his stick Skyward and the fifes to make merry and the drums to beat. So, still wondering—the golden key clasped tightly in one hand—Dan marched from the plaza, bowing first one way and then the other to the crowd or waving his pointed hat toward wee mice-in-arms that were held upward to claim his attention.
CHAPTER XXV
IN WHICH DAN HEARS THE CLOCK STRIKE ONE
Now should you ever, like Dan, some day visit the Valley of Tick Tock, and, reaching the plaza that lies in the very center of Micetown, take eleven steps to the east and then ten to the south, you would, like as not, come upon a vine-covered mound something of the width, the shape and the height of a haycock. And were you to thrust the vines to one side, you would find that they covered the face of two wooden doors, so fashioned and hinged as to part in the middle. But did you seek to open them to learn what might be concealed underneath, you would discover that something forbade you to do so. And after you had tugged, and then tugged again, and probably said “Oh, dear,” at your failure, you would seek out the reason and find it to be a stout and wholly unyielding lock.
But this is something with which you will doubtless never contend. Not that you will never visit the valley, but because, if you do, you will most likely be accompanied as was Diggeldy Dan. For, at the end of the day and the first hours of the night spent in journeys to Stubbleton, Dorton and Nightsville, the clown found himself marching toward this very same knoll that has been described as resembling a haycock.
What a marvelous multitude attended him! Of course there were the dragoons, and there were the bands, and there were the mayors,—all four of them. The latter now rode in splendid corncob carriages, drawn by mice in harness and plumes and driven by others with cockades on their hats. At the rear and both sides walked mice in such numbers, and so packed together, that as Dan looked down on them it seemed as though the very ground was in motion. And when, now and then, the vast procession came to a pause—as processions are likely to do—there was not the slightest bit of confusion. This was because every mouse instantly stepped on the tail of that mouse who walked just in front of him and so held him quite fast just as he, in turn, was held in his tracks by the one who came to a halt right behind him.
Nearly all had brought lamps. These were not carried but were fastened to the caps that all of them wore. This gave the throng a most picturesque look. It made Dan think of a torchlight procession and, again, of the lights that jewel a town when one views it from some distant hillside. Just why the mice had been provided with lamps Dan could not guess; for the moon now floated high in the skies and flooded every inch of the way. But he was soon to find out, for it was not long before the mayors drew up in the lee of the knoll that looked so much like a haycock. Up the vines went the dragoons and, pulling this way and that, quickly bared the two doors to full view. Next Mayor Mouser and his companions alighted. Looking back, Dan saw that all the attending throng were standing upon each other’s tails as though awaiting some momentous event.