It was the Ensign's hap to alight upon a leaf whereon a small and rather dainty but vigorous Pixinee, named Madam Dictyna the Lacemaker, had built a snug pavilion. Spite had set her as an especial sentinel upon my lady Dido; and when Lawe and his dragoons made such a rude entrance upon her domain she was sorely vexed. Shaking her lace frills and skirts, she ran out from her tent and threatened the Brownies with high bluster and rage.
But Lawe would not permit her to be attacked just then; he had other work to do, to which the Lacemaker's presence only spurred him forward. The party left their ponies outside, and crept through the slats of the closed blind into the room. They mounted the bed-post, climbed atop of the carved headboard, and began drumming with their feet and spears upon the solid walnut.
"Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat! Tat, tat, tat!"
Neither of the sleepers stirred.
"Louder, lads, louder!" shouted the Ensign. "Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat! Tat, tat!"
Still the weary couple slept.
"Stop!" called Lawe. "No use! Late hours—late supper—champagne! We must wait and try something better. Away!"
As they descended the bed and scampered back to the window they were greeted by a loud, prolonged nasal serenade from the unconscious pair.
"Puff! pu-ff-ff!—oo,—haw!" breathed Dido quite gently, indeed, after a fashion which goes with some folk by the name of "boiling mush."
"Oo—oogh—ha—aw—hogh!" was the answering snore from the Governor's nose, with a tremendous force upon the "hogh!" In fact, it came out with such a sharp explosion, that Wille's head flew forward, and he awoke.