“And now, for the hour grows late and you will soon be needed in the very biggest tent, to laugh and to dance and play all your pranks, let us be quick. To-morrow, at half-past twilight—”
“When—when do you say?” puzzled Dan.
“At half-past twilight,” repeated the Lady. “Which reminds me that I have a watch for you that you may be very sure of the hour—a very precious watch, fashioned from the petals of a great white flower, that never blossoms, except when the twilight comes and then only for a wee, short hour.”
Even as she spoke, the Pretty Lady tugged at a silver thread that lay in the maze of the mane of her White-White Horse. And presently there appeared, from the opposite side of her snowy mount, the queerest-looking watch that ever told time. It was as round as a pancake, but not one-quarter as thick—indeed, it seemed to have no thickness at all.
“This,” said the Lady, as she unhooked the thread, “is the Petal Watch. You are to keep it tucked away in the peak of your round, funny hat. And each evening, just at half-past twilight, it will open and put forth its petals, and then you will know it is time to let loose the monkeys, and tigers, and lions, and things.”
And as Dan, taking the watch, knelt down to fold it away in the crown of his hat, there came a great burst of music from the very biggest of all the bigger tents. At the sound of it the White-White Horse began to prance and then—the Pretty Lady’s curls set flying by the speed of his gallop—was off through the night to the west.
For a moment Diggeldy Dan made as if to follow. Then he turned, and holding his hat very tightly, as if fearing he might lose the watch that was to be so useful on the morrow, he skipped away toward the great tent from whence the music came, singing as he ran.
CHAPTER III
IN WHICH DAN RELEASES THE ANIMALS OF SPANGLELAND
As the sun sank to rest behind the tents of Spangleland, on the day following the visit of the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes, it paused for a moment—as the sun sometimes will—and shot one last, long, lingering beam toward the little white tent which, as you will remember, played a part in the beginning of this tale. Had you been near at the time—and possessed some knack at riding sun beams—you might have mounted this one and ridden straight through the wee open place that served as a peep-hole for the wee little eye when the blue bird was first seen in the west. For it was through this tiny chink that the sunbeam passed and, having gained entrance, landed plump on the nose of Diggeldy Dan.
Indeed, it came so suddenly that the clown—who sat hunched over on the top of a gayly painted box, lost in deep thought—mistook it for a bright yellow bee and tried to brush it aside. And then he saw his mistake and, sitting up very straight, glanced upward to the hole in the wall.