They signed assent. And the Mer King stepped forward full into view of the crowd in the street below.
“My people,” he said in a voice loud, yet soft, and very, very beautiful. And at the words the Mer Folk below looked up and recognized their long-lost King, and a shout went up that you could have heard a mile away.
The King raised his hand for silence.
“My people,” he said, “brave men of Merland—let there be peace, now and forever, between us and our brave foes. The King and Queen of this land agreed to make unconditional peace while they believed themselves to be victorious. If victory has for today been with us, let us at least be the equals of our foes in generosity as in valor.”
Another shout rang out. And the King of the Under Folk stepped forward.
“My people,” he said, and the Under Folk came quickly forward toward him at the sound of his voice. “There shall be peace. Let these who were your foes this morning be your guests tonight and your friends and brothers for evermore. If we have wronged them, we beg them to forgive us: if they have wronged us, we beg them to allow us to forgive them.” (“Is that right?” he asked the Mer King in a hasty whisper, who whispered back, “Admirable!”) “Now,” he went on, “cheer, Mer Folk and Under Folk, for the splendid compact of Peace.”
And they cheered.
“Pardon, your Majesty”—it was Ulfin who spoke—“it was the stranger Francis who first conceived the Peace Idea.”
“True,” said the Mer King, “where is Francis?”
But Francis was not to be found; it was only his name which was presented to the people from the balcony. He himself kept his pearly coat on and kept the invisibility button well pressed down, till the crowd had dispersed to ring all the diving bells with which the towers of the city were so handsomely fitted up, to hang the city with a thousand seaweed flags, and to illuminate its every window and door and pinnacle and buttress with more and more phosphorescent fish. In the Palace was a banquet for the Kings and the Queen and the Princesses, and the three children, and Cathay-who-was-Fido. Also Reuben was called from the command of his Sea Urchins to be a guest at the royal table. Princess Freia asked that an invitation might be sent to Ulfin—but when the King’s Private Secretary, a very intelligent cuttlefish, had got the invitation ready, handsomely written in his own ink, it was discovered that no Ulfin was to be found to receive it.
It was a glorious banquet. The only blot on its rapturous splendor was the fact that Cathay still remained Fido, the Queen’s pet—and her eyes were still those cold, unremembering eyes which her brothers and sister could not bear to meet. Reuben sat at the right hand of the Queen, and from the moment he took his place there he seemed to think of no one else. He talked with her, sensibly and modestly, and Francis remarked that during his stay in Merland Reuben had learned to talk as you do, and not in the language of gypsy circus-people. The Commander-in-Chief of the Forces of the Under Folk sat at the left hand of his King. The King of the Mer Folk sat between his happy daughters, and the children sat together between the Chief Astrologer and the Curator of the Museum of Foreign Curiosities, who was more pleased to see them again than he had ever expected to be, and much more friendly than they had ever hoped to find him. Everyone was extremely happy, even Fido-which-was-Cathay, who sat on the Queen’s lap and was fed with delicacies from the Queen’s own plate.
It was at about the middle of the feast, just after everybody had drunk the health of the two Commanders-in-Chief, amid tempestuous applause, that a serving-fish whispered behind his fin to the Under Folk Queen:
“Certainly,” she said, “show him in.”
And the person who was shown in was Ulfin, and he carried on his arm a pearly coat and a scaly tail. He sank on one knee and held them up to the Mer King, with only one doubtful deprecating glance at the Curator of the Museum of Foreign Curiosities.
The King took them, and feeling in the pocket of the coat drew out three golden cases.
“It is the royal prerogative to have three,” he said smilingly to the Queen, “in case of accidents. May I ask your Majesty’s permission to administer one of them to your Majesty’s little pet. I am sure you are longing to restore her to her brothers and her sister.”
The Queen could not but agree—though her heart was sore at losing the little Fido-Kathleen, of whom she had grown so fond. But she was hoping that Reuben would consent to let her adopt him, and be more to her than many Fidos. She administered the charm herself, and the moment Cathay had swallowed it the royal arms were loosened, and the Queen expected her pet to fly to her brothers and sister. But to Cathay it was as though only an instant had passed since she came into that hall, a prisoner. So that when suddenly she saw her brothers and sister honored guests at what was unmistakably a very grand and happy festival, and found herself in the place of honor on the very lap of the Queen, she only snuggled closer to that royal lady and called out very loud and clear, “Hullo, Mavis! Here’s a jolly transformation scene. That was a magic drink she gave us and it’s made everybody jolly and friends—I am glad. You dear Queen,” she added, “it is nice of you to nurse me.”
So everybody was pleased: only Princess Freia looked sad and puzzled and her eyes followed Ulfin as he bowed and made to retire from the royal presence. He had almost reached the door when
