It was due, he said, to the Philosopher’s having lost the Magic Stone. Upon this stone his youthful appearance, and everything that he owned, had depended.
Early that morning a great tumult had suddenly arisen. The Philosopher went out walking. Soon an old man had rushed in, crying that he had lost the Magic Stone. He commanded every slave in the castle instantly to leave whatever work he was doing, and help to find it. At first no one heeded him, for they could not any of them be persuaded that he was their master. Then the confusion had grown rapidly worse, for each one found he was fading away, growing every moment more pale and thin. As the hours passed all the servants became white ghosts, and they floated away in companies together.
The furniture was melting now in the same manner. The tables were sinking down, and all the vessels used for cooking, and what not, were falling softly and noiselessly upon the floors—where there were any floors to hold them. Everything was blowing gently about, so that the air seemed filled with bits of cloud. Presently the remnants would be swept into the sea by the passing breezes.
“And how have you escaped?” asked the Sea-gull.
The Parrot raised his crest and looked very much offended.
“Because I am real,” he said with dignity. “I was the only real thing in the castle. The Philosopher stole me at the same time that he stole the Magic Stone.”
“Stole it?” cried the Mermaids and the Mer-babies and the Sea-gulls.
“Yes,” said the Parrot; “he stole it in a far-off land, and he stole me. I was to be a present to the Princess; for he thought of marrying the Princess even at that time, and the Philosopher knew there was not in all the world another parrot like me.”
He opened his wings and puffed up every feather. He certainly was a magnificent creature. The grown-up Sea-gulls felt quite ashamed of their homely dresses of black and white; but the young ones only gaped, and crowded open-mouthed to the front to look.