The head cook had put the tarts away on the top shelf of the larder for safety. But he was a poet as well as a cook, and just before the moment arrived when the tarts should have been served up, a perfectly beautiful little verse came into his head, and he rushed off to a quiet spot to write it down, quite confident that the under-cook would be able to look after the rest of the banquet.
And that’s how it came about that suspicion fell upon the poor Knave; for when the tarts could not be found, every one naturally supposed that he had stolen them again.
When the cook had written down his verse and made a few little improvements in it, he returned to the kitchen and found everything in an uproar because of the missing tarts.
He arrived in the nick of time, for the messengers were returning almost empty-handed from the pastry-cooks’ shops. They had made very little pastry that day because they knew that every one would be at the banquet and that they would have no sale for their wares.
Of course, later on, the cook had to give an explanation of his carelessness, and he was removed from his position.
But as his verses were even better than his dishes, he was made Court Poet instead, and he liked that much better, though he occasionally lent a hand in the kitchen when they were very busy.
The Queen was most grateful to the Rainbow Cat for his timely help; and every year, on his birthday, she sent him a box of tarts made by her own hands especially for him.
He stayed only a day or two in the Ever After land after the banquet. Then he packed up his belongings, bade good-bye to all his kind friends, and set off for his home.
He was glad to be back in his own little house, and delighted all his friends with his account of his travels.
But he had no intention of settling down for ever, and I hope to be able some day to tell you more of the adventures that befell him upon his further journeyings.