When he came up out of the shaft Dragonfel gave a deep breath of relief as his nostrils sucked in the bracing air that had a salt tang of the sea in it. Out in the harbor there tossed a galleon on the lazy swell—a craft built low amid-ship, and with both bow and stern curving high into the air.
Dragonfel gazed off at it with interest, and remarked:
“It may come in handy soon if these Brownies and fairies continue longer. They are getting altogether too good, and must be stopped. But let us go back to the palace to see if anything has happened in our absence.”
Nothing else was to be seen on the wide water to draw his attention, except some mermaids who were above the waves, engaged in combing their hair, who, to most people, are very interesting.
A little bird with very acute hearing listened intently to his words as it lightly balanced on the twig of a gumdrop tree, and then flew straight across the sea to tell a fairy, who told the other fairies. Dragonfel with his big, clumsy, lumbering cohorts strode on to the palace that was guarded by a Demon Usher—a queer, comical-looking chap who with his wings much resembled a human grasshopper, and who half flew, half walked.
He had thin little wisps of hair sticking out from each side of his nose, like the scanty whiskers of a cat.
The Demon Usher with hops and jumps escorted him to a magnificent throne, and grovelled with smirks before him, while Dragonfel with what he thought to be the quintessence of grace sank upon it, and then arranged himself in what he imagined was a kingly posture.
“Well,” he gruffly said, “has anyone been here since I’ve been gone?”
“No, kind master!” the Demon Usher hastened to assure him. “No one has been here since the band and you remember them.”