No sooner had the hall-door banged downstairs than Master Mustardseed burst into song, so full of joyous trills and turns and crushing-notes, that someone who knew no better might have supposed he was merely showing what difficult music he could contrive to sing if he gave his mind to it. Philomène cautiously put two fingers through the bars of his cage, and at that the canary stopped singing as abruptly as he had begun, cocked his little green head on one side, and perched upon her hand. Then he spoke in a shrill, small voice,
“No need to introduce myself, I suppose?” he said gaily. His manner was good-humoured and easy, and Philomène thought, rightly enough, that he would prove far slower to take offence than her friend the land-agent.
“No,” she said, “Sweet William has told me that Master Mustardseed is really your name; and oh! you cannot think what a difference it has made to me during lesson time to feel that there is a real fairy in the schoolroom. I used to think sometimes, when it was quiet and getting late, that if I listened I might hear my toys talking, as they do in nearly all the story-books, but that never came to anything. Perhaps I didn’t wait long enough, or perhaps they knew I was listening.”
“The story-books are not always as accurate on that point as they ought to be,” replied the canary, “it is really not at all so easy to hear toys talk as they make out. To begin with, the house has to be quite empty; there must be no daylight in the room, only firelight or moonlight; and there must be no time going on.”
“How could that be managed?” asked Philomène, as Master Mustardseed paused to take breath, for he spoke nearly as fast as he sang.
“The clock must have stopped,” said Master Mustardseed, “so you see, it is rather a difficult matter first and last. You have no idea, by the way, what confusion you caused in the dolls’ house the other day by making the dolls play at a wedding.”
“I am sorry if I upset them,” said Philomène in distress, “I thought I should like to have a wedding, because I had read in my history lesson that morning about King Louis XII. of France, and how he over-ate himself at his own wedding-banquet when he married Mary Tudor, and he died, and she was ever so pleased, and went quickly and married someone else.”
“I daresay,” said Master Mustardseed, laughing, “but you married two dolls who did not in the least want to marry each other, poor things, and what was worse, the mistress of the house had invited the Gollywog and the Father Christmas to lunch, and she had to tell them not to come, as there were not enough plates to go round. How would you like to have to do that if you were a hostess? The dolls’ own lives are constantly being interrupted and interfered with by those who play with them, but of course I see that it cannot be helped, and it isn’t your fault. It is the fault of whoever made them dolls.”
“I will look very hard at them next time I want to play,” said Philomène remorsefully, “and perhaps I shall see from the expression on their faces whether they have a funeral or a party or anything of their own fixed for that day. Poor dears, I hope they don’t hate me. But, oh please, will you tell me something about yourself now, and why you are here?”
“Well, as you have already heard,” replied the canary, “I am Master Mustardseed, one of the fairy queen’s four favourite pages, so you made a remarkably good shot at my name. As for why I am here—well, have you never heard that once every hundred years fairies have to turn into animals for a year and a day, and if they are killed during that time, so much the worse for them, for you see, we haven’t what you call souls. However, if we survive that year and that day, we can go back to Fairyland for another hundred years. Now my friend and brother page, Master Moth, of whom I daresay you have heard, had to put in his time before my turn came, and he lived with you as your first canary; but when his year was over he flew away, and knowing that I had shortly to make up my mind what to change into myself, he recommended me to come here, saying that you were a very kind little mistress, and that I might go farther and fare worse. That is why I came, and as for my staying longer than a year and a day, why, my dear, before I left Fairyland I played a prank on the Man in the Moon. He had come to court for the first time, and we pages thought him something of a country cousin. You see, he did not know anything at all about court etiquette, and made absurd mistakes. I thought out the prank all by myself, for I did not want Puck or Moth or Cobweb or Peasblossom to know anything about it; it does not do to have too many people in a secret. All would have gone off well enough, had not the Man in the Moon complained to headquarters. It appears he cannot take a joke; and indeed I might have guessed as much, for I expect you have noticed even at this distance what a wry face he can make. The king and queen were so much displeased that they banished me from court for three years, and I thought I had much better stay on here. But if one day I leave you, you must not be sorry, for I shall only have flown back to Fairyland.”