"Now let me see,' mused the Alderman, 'isn't there any little thing we could do for you to show that we hadn't forgotten you?'
"'You know what I expect of you,' retorted the Lion, 'keep your promises.'
"'Apart from that,' suggested the Alderman, 'some sort of memento, some sort of recognition.'
"'Oh, no,' hastily interposed Lal, 'no recognition, please, it is the one thing I dread most in the world owing to the curious position I occupy in public life. However, in the years to come, if you can reasonably and truthfully look back upon all you have accomplished with a certain amount of justifiable pride and satisfaction, you can come here quietly one night and place a big wreath of water-lilies; lay them as an offering between my paws; on no account hang them round my neck like the other terrible people do upon Trafalgar Day, it only makes me look ridiculous.'
"'Why water-lilies?' asked the Alderman.
"'My favourite flower,' sighed the Lion, 'and, moreover, the one I never see. You see, the fountains splash about so incessantly that there is no peaceful place where they can grow, and you wouldn't believe,' added the Lion earnestly, 'how I sometimes long for those irritating fountains to stop, and for beautiful water-lilies to grow there instead.'
"'It shall all be done as you say, and I will ponder over every single thing you have mentioned,' promised the Alderman.
"'Good-bye till then,' said the Lion in his most sepulchral voice, and then the Lion smiled at me and said, 'Good-bye, little Skylark.'
"For my own part I had stood by quite silent without saying a word, but I somehow realized that if I wasn't going to see and speak to my old friend Lal any more, there were several things I wanted to say, and a good many more things I wanted to ask.
"'Ere, 'old on 'arf a mo', cocky,' I shouted.