"Then I'll go!" cried Martin; and, so saying, he flung his spade with such force into the soil, that it stood upright.
"Well, my man, we'll give you a week to come to your senses," replied the monarch, as, gathering up his skirts, he shuffled away down the garden walk.
When Martin arrived home he found a great fuss going on in his little cottage. All the good wives of the hamlet were gathered about the door-porch; and, when he entered, lo, and behold, Dame Ursula held in her arms the dearest little beauty of a baby-boy!
She wept for joy, as she saw how pleased her goodman was with his new little son; but when he related to her all that had passed between himself and his master, the old king, she clasped her hands together, and began to weep and wail for sorrow, "because," as she said, "it was a very bad time to be 'out of work,' and an evil omen for the child. However, we'll have a real nice christening, Martin dear, and invite all the good fairies. And next week you will go on with your gardening again, you know, just as if nothing had happened."
So they had as grand a christening as people in their circumstances could afford. The baby was called Lionel, "which," remarked some of the neighbours, "was quite too fine a name for a common gardener's son." Only one bright little, gay little fairy could be found who had time to come to the christening. But she was a good-natured little thing, that somehow always found exactly time to render a great many kindly services. She willingly became Lionel's godmother, and promised to help him through life as far as she could. "However," added the little lady, with a sigh, "there's many a wicked fairy in the land may try to throw a shadow across his path."
Now the day after the christening, and after the fairy's departure, the troubles in little Lionel's home appeared to set in. Martin's leather money-bag hung empty, and there was very little bread in the house for his wife to eat; and this Saturday night no wages were coming due. Oh, how he yearned for Monday morning, that he might go at his digging again; and how anxiously he hoped that all might continue as before!
Slowly the week dragged out, the lagging hours weighing like chains on the heart of the honest yeoman, who was not accustomed to idleness.
At last the Monday morning dawned, with rustling of leaves, and twittering of birds; and Martin flung his clothes on, and hastened forth to the royal garden.
Ah, me! the place looked neglected since only last week. The roses and carnations hung their heads for want of a drop of water, and the leaves of the fuchsias had mostly turned white. Weeds were staring out boldly right and left; and the box-borders, that had ever been so trim and neat, just appeared as if all the cats and dogs in the country-side had gathered in on purpose to tear them to pieces.
Martin sped to the toolhouse for his watering-can, rake and hoe; but he was somewhat dismayed indeed to find his implements broken in pieces, and lying scattered about.