The portcullis was straightway raised, and in trooped a queer, motley crowd. They were attended by four grinning imps in red who varied their walk with somersaulting antics, and the arms of all but the leader were full of presents.
These evidently had been selected with much care and thought for the wedding, and the same taste and judgment were shown that can be found in nearly all weddings.
One of them had a gigantic pair of scissors which would have taken as many as a half-dozen Brownies or fairies to cut with. Another held a cradle big enough to hold the offspring of a giant.
A third in a cage carried a hen which was alleged to lay three strictly guaranteed fresh eggs a day. From each hand of a fourth dangled an immense round clock, and the faces of them were lettered: FALSE ALARM. MADE IN DEMONLAND. A fifth had a pair of abnormal candle-snuffers. Others had gifts equally absurd and useless.
At the instigation of the leader all grouped themselves in a semi-circle humbly before the bride and groom to-be, and Florimel, who was still somewhat suspicious, asked:
