Suddenly the balls of seaweed drew together and the Princess murmured, “I thought so,” as they formed into orderly lines, sank to the ground, and remained motionless for a moment, while one ball of seaweed stood in front of them.
“It’s the Boy Scouts,” she said. “Your Reuben is giving them their orders.”
It seemed that she was right, for next moment the balls of seaweed drifted away in different directions, and the one who had stood before them drifted straight to the arch where the Princess and the children stood. It drifted in, pulled off its seaweed disguise, and was, in effect, Reuben.
“We’ve found out something more, your Highness,” he said, saluting the Princess. “The vanguard are to be Sea Horses; you know, not the little ones, but the great things they have in the depths.”
“No use our attacking the horses,” said the Princess. “They’re as hard as ice. Who rides them?”
“The First Dipsys,” said Reuben. “They’re the young Under Folk who want to cut a dash. They call them the Forlorn Hopers, for short.”
“Have they got armor?”
“No—that’s their swank. They’ve no armor but their natural scales. Those look thick enough, though. I say, Princess, I suppose we Sea Urchins are free to do exactly as we choose?”
“Yes,” said the Princess, “unless orders are given.”
“Well, then—my idea is that the Lobsters are the fellows to tackle the Sea Horses. Hold on to their tails, see? They can’t hurt the Lobsters because they can’t get at their own tails.”
“But when the Lobsters let go?” said the Princess.
“The Lobsters wouldn’t let go till they had driven back the enemy,” said the Lobster Captain, saluting. “Your Highness, may I ask if you propose to take this Urchin’s advice?”
“Isn’t it good?” she asked.
“Yes, your Highness,” the Lobster Captain answered, “but it’s impertinent.”
“I am the best judge of that,” said the Princess gently; “remember that these are noble volunteers, who are fighting for us of their own free will.”
The Lobster saluted and was silent.
“I cannot send the Lobsters,” said the Princess, “we need them to protect the gate. But the Crabs—”
“Ah, Highness, let us go,” pleaded the Lobster Captain.
“The Crabs cannot keep the gate,” said the Princess kindly. “You know they are not narrow enough. Francis, will you be my aide-de-camp and take a message to the Queen?”
“May I go, too?” asked Mavis.
“Yes. But we must deliver a double assault. If the Crabs attack the Horses, who will deal with the riders?”
“I have an idea about that, too,” said Reuben.
“If we could have some good heavy shoving regiment—and someone sharp to finish them off. The Swordfish, perhaps?”
“You are a born general,” the Princess said; “but you don’t quite know our resources. The United Narwhals can do the shoving, as you call it—and their horns are sharp and heavy. Now”—she took a smooth white chalkstone from the seafloor, and a ready Lobster brought her a sharpened haddock bone. She wrote quickly, scratching the letters deep on the chalk. “Here,” she said, “take this to the Queen. You will find her at Headquarters at the Palace yard. Tell her everything. I have only asked for the two regiments; you must explain the rest. I don’t suppose there’ll be any difficulty in getting through our lines, but, if there should be, the password is ‘Glory’ and the countersign is ‘or Death.’ And hurry, hurry, hurry for your lives!”
Never before had Mavis and Francis felt anything like the glow of excitement and importance which warmed them as they went up the long tunnel to take the message to the Queen.
“But where is the Palace?” Mavis said, and they stopped, looking at each other.
“I’ll show you, please,” said a little voice behind them. They turned quickly to find a small, spruce, gentlemanly Mackerel at their heels. “I’m one of the Guides,” it said. “I felt sure you’d need me. This way, sir, please,” and it led the way across the gardens in and out of the clumps of trees and between the seaweed hedges till they came to the Palace. Rows and rows of soldiers surrounded it, all waiting impatiently for the word of command that should send them to meet the enemies of their country.
“Glory,” said the gentlemanly Mackerel, as he passed the outposts.
“Or Death,” replied the sentinel Sea Bream.
The Queen was in the courtyard, in which the children had received their ovation—so short a time ago, and yet how long it seemed. Then the courtyard had been a scene of the calm and charming gaiety of a nation at peace; now it was full of the ardent, intense inactivity of waiting warriors. The Queen in her gleaming coral armor met them as the password opened a way to her through the close-packed ranks of the soldiers. She took the stone and read it, and with true royal kindness she found time, even at such a moment, for a word of thanks to the messengers.
“See the Narwhals start,” she added, “and then back to your posts with all speed. Tell your commanding officer that so far the Book People have made no sign, but the golden gate is strongly defended by the King’s Own Cod, and—”
“I didn’t know there was a King,” said Francis.
The Queen looked stern, and the Mackerel guide jerked Francis’s magic coattail warningly and whispered “Hush!”
“The King,” said
