‘Not dead!’ echoed the little Piskey in great surprise.
‘No; he was seen perched only last evening on his own seat, which is still called King Arthur’s Seat, and which, as I dare say you know, overhangs the sea.’
‘Arthur the King not dead!’ whispered the little Piskey, as if he could not get over his amazement.
‘A precious good thing for you he isn’t,’ snapped the mole.
‘But how isn’t he dead?’ asked the little Piskey.
‘Because he was changed by magic into a bird,’ answered the mole; ‘he haunts the Dundagel[8] cliffs and the ruins of his old castle in the form of a chough. He was wounded almost unto death in his last great battle, it is true,’ she added, for the small man looked as if he wanted this strange happening fully explained, ‘and the marks of the battle he fought and the hurts he received are yet upon him, as the legs and beak of the great black bird plainly show—as plainly as my own tiny hands that I was once a great lady. But he is still alive. If you should see a bird with a red beak and legs flying over King Arthur’s Castle as day is beginning to break, you may be quite certain that he is King Arthur. If he has seen your laugh he will be sure to tell you. He is very kind and good, as all the world knows.’
‘Which is still called King Arthur’s Seat.’
‘I am glad the Good King is not dead,’ said the little Piskey. ‘I’ll try and keep awake till the dawn so that I can ask him about my laugh; but I am so tired.’
The little fellow did his best to keep awake, but he was too worn out with his run from St. Minver sand-hills to Tintagel Castle to sit and watch for the coming of the red-legged bird; and long before the sun wheeled up behind the Tors and shone upon the sea he was sound asleep under a great mallow growing by one of the grey old walls. When he awoke a day and a night had come and gone, and the birth of a new day was at hand.