“On my birthday,” my Lady concluded in a meek whisper. “One must have a dagger, you know. It’s part of the——”
“Oh, don’t talk of Conspiracies!” her husband savagely interrupted, as he tossed the dagger into the cupboard. “You know about as much how to manage a Conspiracy as if you were a chicken. Why, the first thing is to get a disguise. Now, just look at this!”
And with pardonable pride he fitted on the cap and bells, and the rest of the Fool’s dress, and winked at her, and put his tongue in his cheek. “Is that the sort of thing, now?” he demanded.
My Lady’s eyes flashed with all a Conspirator’s enthusiasm. “The very thing!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You do look, oh, such a perfect Fool!”
The Fool smiled a doubtful smile. He was not quite clear whether it was a compliment or not, to express it so plainly. “You mean a Jester? Yes, that’s what I intended. And what do you think your disguise is to be?” And he proceeded to unfold the parcel, the lady watching him in rapture.
“Oh, how lovely!” she cried, when at last the dress was unfolded. “What a splendid disguise! An Esquimaux peasant-woman!”
“An Esquimaux peasant, indeed!” growled the other. “Here, put it on, and look at yourself in the glass. Why, it’s a Bear, ca’n’t you use your eyes?” He checked himself suddenly, as a harsh voice yelled through the room
“He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head!”
But it was only the Gardener, singing under the open window. The Vice-Warden stole on tip-toe to the window, and closed it noiselessly, before he ventured to go on. “Yes, Lovey, a Bear: but not without a head, I hope! You’re the Bear, and me the Keeper. And if any one knows us, they’ll have sharp eyes, that’s all!”