Lit2Go

Just then a rabbit band of nearly fifty pieces marched in, playing upon golden instruments and dressed in neat uniforms. Following the band came the nobility of Bunnybury, all richly dressed and hopping along on their rear legs. Both the ladies and the gentlemen wore white gloves upon their paws, with their rings on the outside of the gloves, as this seemed to be the fashion here. Some of the lady rabbits carried lorgnettes, while many of the gentlemen rabbits wore monocles in their left eyes.

The courtiers and their ladies paraded past the King, who introduced Princess Dorothy to each couple in a very graceful manner. Then the company seated themselves in chairs and on sofas and looked expectantly at their monarch.

“It is our royal duty, as well as our royal pleasure,” he said, “to provide fitting entertainment for our distinguished guest. We will now present the Royal Band of Whiskered Friskers.”

As he spoke the musicians, who had arranged themselves in a corner, struck up a dance melody while into the room pranced the Whiskered Friskers. They were eight pretty rabbits dressed only in gauzy purple skirts fastened around their waists with diamond bands. Their whiskers were colored a rich purple, but otherwise they were pure white.

After bowing before the King and Dorothy the Friskers began their pranks, and these were so comical that Dorothy laughed with real enjoyment. They not only danced together, whirling and gyrating around the room, but they leaped over one another, stood upon their heads and hopped and skipped here and there so nimbly that it was hard work to keep track of them. Finally, they all made double somersaults and turned handsprings out of the room.

The nobility enthusiastically applauded, and Dorothy applauded with them.

“They’re fine!” she said to the King.

“Yes, the Whiskered Friskers are really very clever,” he replied. “I shall hate to part with them when I go away, for they have often amused me when I was very miserable. I wonder if you would ask Glinda—”

“No, it wouldn’t do at all,” declared Dorothy, positively. “There wouldn’t be room in your hole in the ground for so many rabbits, ‘spec’ly when you get the lily chair and your clothes there. Don’t think of such a thing, your Majesty.”

The King sighed. Then he stood up and announced to the company:

“We will now hold a military drill by my picked Bodyguard of Royal Pikemen.”

Now the band played a march and a company of rabbit soldiers came in. They wore green and gold uniforms and marched very stiffly but in perfect time. Their spears, or pikes, had slender shafts of polished silver with golden heads, and during the drill they handled these weapons with wonderful dexterity.

“I should think you’d feel pretty safe with such a fine Bodyguard,” remarked Dorothy.

“I do,” said the King. “They protect me from every harm. I suppose Glinda wouldn’t—”

“No,” interrupted the girl; “I’m sure she wouldn’t. It’s the King’s own Bodyguard, and when you are no longer King you can’t have ‘em.”

The King did not reply, but he looked rather sorrowful for a time.

When the soldiers had marched out he said to the company:

“The Royal Jugglers will now appear.”

Dorothy had seen many jugglers in her lifetime, but never any so interesting as these. There were six of them, dressed in black satin embroidered with strange symbols in silver—a costume which contrasted strongly with their snow-white fur.

First, they pushed in a big red ball and three of the rabbit jugglers stood upon its top and made it roll. Then two of them caught up a third and tossed him into the air, all vanishing, until only the two were left. Then one of these tossed the other upward and remained alone of all his fellows. This last juggler now touched the red ball, which fell apart, being hollow, and the five rabbits who had disappeared in the air scrambled out of the hollow ball.

Next they all clung together and rolled swiftly upon the floor. When they came to a stop only one fat rabbit juggler was seen, the others seeming to be inside him. This one leaped lightly into the air and when he came down he exploded and separated into the original six. Then four of them rolled themselves into round balls and the other two tossed them around and played ball with them.

These were but a few of the tricks the rabbit jugglers performed, and they were so skillful that all the nobility and even the King applauded as loudly as did Dorothy.

“I suppose there are no rabbit jugglers in all the world to compare with these,” remarked the King. “And since I may not have the Whiskers Friskers or my Bodyguard, you might ask Glinda to let me take away just two or three of these jugglers. Will you?”

“I’ll ask her,” replied Dorothy, doubtfully.

“Thank you,” said the King; “thank you very much. And now you shall listen to the Winsome Waggish Warblers, who have often cheered me in my moments of anguish.”

The Winsome Waggish Warblers proved to be a quartette of rabbit singers, two gentlemen and two lady rabbits. The gentlemen Warblers wore full-dress swallow-tailed suits of white satin, with pearls for buttons, while the lady Warblers were gowned in white satin dresses with long trails.

The first song they sang began in this way:

“When a rabbit gets a habit
    Of living in a city
And wearing clothes and furbelows
    And jewels rare and pretty,
He scorns the Bun who has to run
    And burrow in the ground
And pities those whose watchful foes
    Are man and gun and hound.”
Dorothy looked at the King when she heard this song and noticed that he seemed disturbed and ill at ease.

“I don’t like that song,” he said to the Warblers. “Give us something jolly and rollicking.”

So they sang to a joyous, tinkling melody as follows:

   “Bunnies gay
    Delight to play
In their fairy town secure;
    Ev’ry frisker
    Flirts his whisker
At a pink-eyed girl demure.
    Ev’ry maid
    In silk arrayed
At her partner shyly glances,
    Paws are grasped,
    Waists are clasped
As they whirl in giddy dances.
    Then together
    Through the heather
‘Neath the moonlight soft they stroll;
    Each is very
    Blithe and merry,
Gamboling with laughter droll.
    Life is fun
    To ev’ry one
Guarded by our magic charm
    For to dangers
    We are strangers,
Safe from any thought of harm.”
“You see,” said Dorothy to the King, when the song ended, “the rabbits all seem to like Bunnybury except you. And I guess you’re the only one that ever has cried or was unhappy and wanted to get back to your muddy hole in the ground.”

His Majesty seemed thoughtful, and while the servants passed around glasses of nectar and plates of frosted cakes their King was silent and a bit nervous.

When the refreshments had been enjoyed by all and the servants had retired Dorothy said:

“I must go now, for it’s getting late and I’m lost. I’ve got to find the Wizard and Aunt Em and Uncle Henry and all the rest sometime before night comes, if I poss’bly can.”

“Won’t you stay with us?” asked the King. “You will be very welcome.”

“No, thank you,” she replied. “I must get back to my friends. And I want to see Glinda just as soon as I can, you know.”

So the King dismissed his court and said he would himself walk with Dorothy to the gate. He did not weep nor groan any more, but his long face was quite solemn and his big ears hung dejectedly on each side of it. He still wore his crown and his ermine and walked with a handsome gold-headed cane.

When they arrived at the room in the wall the little girl found Toto and Billina waiting for her very patiently. They had been liberally fed by some of the attendants and were in no hurry to leave such comfortable quarters.

The Keeper of the Wicket was by this time back in his old place, but he kept a safe distance from Toto. Dorothy bade goodbye to the King as they stood just inside the wall.

“You’ve been good to me,” she said, “and I thank you ever so much. As soon as poss’ble I’ll see Glinda and ask her to put another King in your place and send you back into the wild forest. And I’ll ask her to let you keep some of your clothes and the lily chair and one or two jugglers to amuse you. I’m sure she will do it, ‘cause she’s so kind she doesn’t like any one to be unhappy.”

“Ahem!” said the King, looking rather downcast. “I don’t like to trouble you with my misery; so you needn’t see Glinda.”

“Oh, yes I will,” she replied. “It won’t be any trouble at all.”

“But, my dear,” continued the King, in an embarrassed way, “I’ve been thinking the subject over carefully, and I find there are a lot of pleasant things here in Bunnybury that I would miss if I went away. So perhaps I’d better stay.”

Dorothy laughed. Then she looked grave.

“It won’t do for you to be a King and a cry-baby at the same time,” she said. “You’ve been making all the other rabbits unhappy and discontented with your howls about being so miserable. So I guess it’s better to have another King.”

“Oh, no indeed!” exclaimed the King, earnestly. “If you won’t say anything to Glinda I’ll promise to be merry and glad all the time, and never cry or wail again.”

“Honor bright?” she asked.

“On the royal word of a King I promise it!” he answered.

“All right,” said Dorothy. “You’d be a reg’lar lunatic to want to leave Bunnybury for a wild life in the forest, and I’m sure any rabbit outside the city would be glad to take your place.”

“Forget it, my dear; forget all my foolishness,” pleaded the King, earnestly. “Hereafter I’ll try to enjoy myself and do my duty by my subjects.”

So then she left him and entered through the little door into the room in the wall, where she grew gradually bigger and bigger until she had resumed her natural size.

The Keeper of the Wicket let them out into the forest and told Dorothy that she had been of great service to Bunnybury because she had brought their dismal King to a realization of the pleasure of ruling so beautiful a city.

“I shall start a petition to have your statue erected beside Glinda’s in the public square,” said the Keeper. “I hope you will come again, some day, and see it.”

“Perhaps I shall,” she replied.

Then, followed by Toto and Billina, she walked away from the high marble wall and started back along the narrow path toward the sign-post.