What could it mean?
He took a few strides towards the "lime walk," and gazed up at the castle windows. The lattices were closed, and all was silent. But then, of course, the old king and queen and My Lord Lackaday, and all the princesses would be sleeping in their beds at this early hour of the morning. Martin must wait until some human creature appeared to tell him how the garden tools came to be broken and scattered.
In the meantime he trudged back to his own domain among the flowers, and passed the dreary moments picking off the withered leaves. By-and-by a light footstep was audible, and "Impudent Jack the jockey" arrived whistling, with a heavy-jowled bull-dog at his heels, and stamped right across the garden parterres, switching off the carnation-tops with his cutty-whip.
"Holloa there, man! Mind what you're about!" cried Martin foaming with wrath. "I wish His Majesty the old king saw you."
"The old king!" cried Jack, standing still, and gazing at Martin with some amazement. "Why, Martin, the old king is dead a week to-morrow, and My Lord Lackaday is master now. And, as for the garden, my man, you may set your mind at rest about that, for his new Royal Majesty has given orders that the whole concern is to be turned into a lake for His Majesty to fish in. Now!" And, so saying, impudent Jack that he was, continued his way, whistling louder, and switching off more carnation tops than before.
Poor Martin was utterly dazed. Could it be true, or was it only a cunning invention of Impudent Jack the jockey's?
Alas, the prolonged stillness that reigned in the park, and the forlorn aspect of the castle windows, made his heart sink like lead within him.
Suddenly a postern door banged, and then a slow, dawdling step was heard in the distance, and Martin perceived, approaching the "lime walk," My Lord Lackaday, with his fishing-rod and tackle. There were two or three young pages with him bearing baskets and nets; and he overheard one of them say, "By-and-by your Majesty shall not have so far to go, once the new pond here is finished."
This was more than Martin could endure. He dashed after the royal fisherman, and screamed forth, "Can it be true that the flower gardens are to be made a pond of? And how is your father's gardener then to get his living?"
"Don't bother us," drawled out the new king; "we don't like flowers, nor do we care whether you get a living or not!"