"Good," assented the Lion; "an able definition of eating your cake and having it at the same time. Off you go then."
"Won't the Kings, Boadicea, and St. George dance too?" asked Christine.
"No, George doesn't dance," said the Lion, "neither do the Royalty; they graciously look on. I don't dance either, I do not consider it dignified, so I sit here, conduct the ceremony, and beat time to the music with my paw."
That dance was the wildest, gladdest, merriest thing the children ever remembered, and the threads of golden light filtering through the flash of the coloured costumes as they wound in and out, added tints of splendour as of an ancient pageant.
Who could keep from dancing to such an exquisite tune, and who could help being glad when ropes of lovely flowers were being twined round lovelier childish faces, flower-like themselves, flushed with gay excitement, with perfect health, with gladness?
Ribbons of changing light they threaded in and out, round and through, no one could tell how many times, and over all the golden scented dew of perfect health and beauty fell from the two fountains upon the up-turned faces.
It is true the Griffin made several ineffectual attempts to break through the laughing, whirling ring, under the impression that the circle was incomplete without him, but Gamble, Grin, and Grub were always at hand to pull him back, and prevent this amiable but mistaken intrusion.
From the piano-organ which he turned so gaily, Carry-on-Merry found it was necessary to caution the Griffin after his last frantic attempt to break through the ring of dancing children.
"I want to dance," urged the Griffin.
"I think you want a keeper," grinned Carry-on-Merry, "or a policeman or something, to keep you in order."