# The Zankiwank and the Bletherwitch/Part 2

Part II
The Fairies’ Feather and Flower Land
Milton.
Shakespeare.
The Fairies’ Feather and Flower Land
Both children experienced that curious sensation of feeling asleep while they were wide awake, and feeling wide awake when they imagined themselves to be asleep, just as one does feel ​sometimes in the early morning, when the sun is beginning to peep through the blinds, and the starlings are chattering, and the sparrows are tweeting under the eaves, outside the window.
They were no longer on the vessel that had borne them away from Fableland, and the approach of the Nargalnannacus, a fearsome creature whom nobody has yet seen, although most of us may not have heard about him.
The obliging Zankiwank was with them, and when they looked round they found themselves in a square field festooned with the misty curtains of the Elfin Dawn.
Both children would have liked to argue out this speech of the Zankiwank because it puzzled them, and they felt it would not parse properly. However, as just at that moment the Elfin Orchestra appeared, they sat on the grass and listened:—
The Elfin Dawn.
“They keep very good time, don’t they?” said the Zankiwank to the children, who were completely entranced with pleasure and surprise.
“Lovely, lovely,” was all they could say.
​Every wild flower they could think of, and every bird of the air, was to be seen in this
“But I can’t be a bridesmaid, you know,” corrected Willie.
“Oh yes, you can. You can be anything here you like. You only have to eat some Fern seeds and you become invisible, and nobody would know you. It is so simple, and saves a lot of argument. And you should never argue about anything unless you know nothing about it, then you are sure to win.”
“But,” interrupted Maude, “how can you know nothing about anything?”
“’Tis the easiest thing out of the world,” said the Zankiwank. “What is nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Precisely. Nothing is nothing; but what is better than nothing?”
“Something.”
​“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Where is your logic? Nothing is better than something! I’ll prove it:—
“That is nonsense and nothing to do with the case,” exclaimed Maude.
“Nonsense? Nonsense? Did you say nonsense?”
“Of course she did,” said Willie, “and so do I.”
“Nonsense! To me? Do you forget what my name is?”
“Oh, no, nothing easier than to remember it. You are the Great Zankiwank.”
“Thank you, I am satisfied. I thought you had forgotten. I am not cross with you.”
Maude and Willie vowed they would not cross him for anything, let alone nothing, and so the Zankiwank was appeased and offered to give them the correct answer to his own ​unanswerable conundrum. Do you know what a conundrum is though? I will tell you while the Zankiwank is curling his whiskers:—
A conundrum is an impossible question with an improbable answer. Think it over the next time you read “Robinson Crusoe.”
“Nothing is better than a good little girl; But a jam tart is better than nothing, Therefore a jam tart is better than the best little girl alive.”
“What do you think of that?” said the Zankiwank.
“I have heard something like it before. But that is nothing. Anyhow I would much rather be a little girl than a jam tart—because a jam tart must be sour because it’s tart, and a little girl is always sweet,” promptly replied Willie, kissing his sister Maude on the nose—but that was an accident, because she moved at the wrong moment.
“You distress me,” said the Zankiwank. “Suppose I were to try to shoot Folly as it flies, and hit a Fool’s Cap and Bells instead, what would you say?”
​“I should say that you had shot at nothing and missed it.”
“I think Fancy must dwell amongst the wild flowers—the sweet beautiful wild flowers that ​grow in such charming variety of disorder.” Saying this, Maude took Willie’s hand and urged the Zankiwank forward.
Before the Zankiwank could reply, a company of fairies, all dressed in pink and green, leapt from the petals of the flowers and danced forward, singing to the buzz of the bees and the breaking note of the yellow-ammer with his bright gamboge breast:—
Where is Fancy Bred.
As mysteriously as they had appeared, the fairies vanished again, and only the rustling of the leaves and the twittering of the birds making melody all around, reminded the children that they were on enchanted ground. Now and then the bull-frogs would set up a croaking chorus in some marshy land far behind, but as no one could distinguish what they said it did not matter.
Was that the music of the spheres they wondered? Somehow it seemed as though their own hearts’ echo played to the words that fell so soft, like a fair sweet tender melody of fairies long ago.
The Zankiwank had left them again, to send another telegram, perhaps, and Maude and Willie went rambling through the meadow and down by the brook, where they gathered nuts and berries and sat them down to enjoy a rural feast.
Tiny elves and fairies were constantly coming and going, some driving in wee chariots with ants for horses and oak leaves for carriages. And ​while all the other flowers seemed quite gay and merry in the sunshine, the Poppies were nodding their scarlet heads and gently dozing, what time some wild Holly Hocks beat to and fro murmuring—
As they lay upon the bank, to their surprise a procession of birds came along, the two foremost being fine handsome thrushes, carrying a large banner of ivy leaves, on which was inscribed, in letters of red clover, the following legend:—
Bean-Feast of Birds from London and the Suburbs.
“Fancy,” said Maude, “all the birds of London Town come to Fairy-land for a change of air!”
​“And why not?” asked a saucy Cock-sparrow. “We can’t be always singing the same song, so we come here for a change of air, and of course when we get a change of air we return with new melodies. If you were to Reed your books properly you would know that the Pipes of our Organs—our vocal Organs—want tuning occasionally.”
Then, without any warning, they all struck up a new song, and marvel of marvels, instead of merely singing like ordinary birds, they sang the words as well. But before giving you the lyric that they voiced so melodiously I must tell you the names of some of the birds they saw, and if you live in London or any large town you will perhaps know several of them by sight, as well as by cognomen. First in the throng were the Mistle-Thrushes and the song Thrushes; the Redwing and the Fieldfare, the Blackbird and the Redstart, and the Redbreast with faithful Jenny Wren; the large family of Titmouse and the merry Chiff-chaff, with his pleasant little song of “Chiff-chaff; chiff-chaff; chiv-chave.” The ​humoursome Wagtails and that rare visitant the Waxwing, hopped along together, followed by the Swallows and the Martins, and a whole posse of Finches of various orders, particularly the Chaffinches who were joking with the Linnets.
Then came the noisy Starlings, the Magpies and the Sparrows chattering incessantly and evidently talking scandal. The sly Jackdaws and the Ravens looking as sleek as Sunday Sextons, but evidently plotting mischief, were also present, in ​close proximity to the Rooks and the Crows, who were well able to take care of their own caws. Afterwards came the Swifts and the Larks up to all sorts of games. A few Woodpeckers joined their feathered friends, and one Cuckoo was there, because Willie heard him, but he kept somewhere in the background as usual. Owls and Bats and Millards with Wigeons and Pigeons brought up the rear with a few Plovers, including the Lapwing. Jack Snipe came tumbling after in a hurry, with a stranger called the Whimbrel and a Puffin out of breath. There were other birds as well, but I don’t think you would know them if I mentioned them. Maude and Willie did not, and they were quite authorities on ornithology, and perhaps you are not.
The Song of the Birds.
After this very entertaining song each bird stood on one leg, spread one wing, and joined partners for one of the prettiest dances you ever saw. It was called the Birds’ Quadrille, and was so charmingly executed that even the flowers left their beds and borders to look on—the fairies peeping meanwhile from the buds to join in the general enjoyment. The voices of the flowers were lifted in gentle cadences to the rhythm of the feathered dancers’ featly twists and turns.
them! Could there be anything sad in Flower Land? They could not believe it possible, and yet when a tiny little fairy stepped from a cluster of wild flowers and sang them the song of the Lily and the Rose, diamond tears stole down the cheeks of the little lass and the little lad.
The Rose and the Lily.
Before the children had time to grow too sorrowful, there was a fluttering in the air and a rushing among the plants and flowers as the Zankiwank bounded into their presence, cutting so many capers that they were glad they were not to have mutton for dinner, as certainly all the capers would be destroyed.
The Zankiwank was in very high spirits, and gleefully announced that the Court of the Fairies, with the Queen, was coming, as Sally who lived in somebody’s alley had just informed him. Then he burst out singing to a tune, which I daresay you all know, the following foolish words:—
“Oh, please be serious!” cried Willie. “What is the matter with you, Mr Zankiwank?”
You will perceive that Willie and Maude were quite at home in their new surroundings, and nothing seemed to surprise them one whit, not even the unexpected which they constantly anticipated.
The Zankiwank only asked permission to send one more telegram to the Bletherwitch, and then he condescended to inform them that Queen Titania was about to pay a visit to the Flowers and the Birds, and sure enough, before he had done speaking, Titania arrived all the way from Athens, with a full train of fairies and elves, accompanied by a fairy band playing fairy music. Robin Goodfellow skipped in advance, while Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed attended on the lovely Queen.
“Indeed, indeed this must be a Midsummer Night’s Dream!”
“Indeed and indeed then it is,” mocked the impudent Robin Goodfellow. “The fairies are not dead yet; and they never will die while good little girls and boys, and poets with sweet imaginations, live. But quick, let not the Queen see you! Eat of these Fern Seeds and you will become invisible even to the fairies. They are special seeds of my own growing and warranted to last as long as I choose.”
So Maude and Willie ate of the Fern Seeds ​and became invisible, even to the Zankiwank, who was dreadfully distressed and went about calling them by name. In a spirit of mischief Willie pinched his exceedingly thin legs, making him jump as high as an April rain-bow, and causing him to be called to order by the Court Usher.
“And now,” said Titania, waving her wand and calling the Flowers and Birds to her Court, “let the Jackdaw sing his well-known War Song.”
“If you please, your majesty, I have left the music at home and forgotten the words,” pleaded the Jackdaw.
“Very well, then
So the Jackdaw stepped forth and sang as below, while the Rook irreverently cleared his throat above for his friend, and cried “Caw! Caw!”
“That’s a very nice War Song—it’s so peaceful and soothing,” spake the Queen. “And now call the Poets from Freeland. This is the time for them to renew their licences, though I greatly fear that they have been taking so many liberties of late that any licence I can give them will prove superfluous.”
“Superfluous! Superfluous! That is a good word,” muttered the Zankiwank. “I wonder what it means?” Whereupon he went and asked Robin Goodfellow and all the other Fairies, but as nobody knew, it did not matter, and the Poets arriving at that moment he thought of a number and sat on a toadstool.
Maude recognised several of the Poets who came to have their licences renewed—she had heard of “poetic licence” before, but never dreamed that one had to get the unwritten freedom from Fairyland. But so it was. Several of the Poets seemed to be exorbitant in their demands, and ​wanted to make their poems all licence, but this Titania would not consent to, so they went away singing, all in tune too, a little piece that Robin Goodfellow said was a Rondel:—
So on their way they went rejoicing—saying pretty things to the fairies, the flowers and the ​birds, for they are their best friends you know, and they love all Nature with a vast and all-embracing, all-enduring love.
One singer as he went along chanted half sadly:—
A light-hearted bard then took up the cue and carolled these lines:—
Then they all sang together a song of May, ​although Queen Titania had declared that it was Midsummer. Perhaps her Midsummer lasts all the year round:—
As the Poets went on their happy way, the last one to depart turned to where Maude was standing, and though he could not possibly see her, said gently:—
How happy it made her! And what beauti-​ful things these poets always thought of and said!
“Now, Peaseblossom and Mustard Seed, you may sing that little song that I made for you when we were floating up near the Moon, and then we shall soon have to depart as we have so many calls to make this Midsummer Night.”
Neither Willie nor Maude could understand how it could be Midsummer Night, because Midsummer Day was such a long way off—quite six weeks, for this was only yet the month of May. But they did not say anything, because Robin Goodfellow was looking at them, and they knew they were invisible, because they could not even feel themselves—which is a curious sensation, when you come to think of it.
​Now, this is the song that Peaseblossom and Mustard Seed sang together in unison—the fairies, led by Robin Goodfellow, joining in the chorus:—
“That’s all very well,” exclaimed the Zankiwank. “Roses are always delightful, especially the Cabbage Roses, because you can eat them for breakfast, but every rose has its drawback … Ho! and it’s thorn,” he added, dancing with pain, for at that moment several rose bushes he was passing by gave him a good pricking.
“Ah!” said Queen Titania, “that is not the way to look at the beautiful things of life. It is because the thorns have roses that we should be thankful, and not find fault because the roses have thorns.”
“That is a sentiment that I can endorse—it is a true bill, and almost as good as one of my own,” replied Robin Goodfellow saucily; “and now let us wander through the Florange grove and gather some Moranges and Lemons.”
Neither Maude nor Willie had heard of Floranges or Moranges, and wondered what sort of fruit
How Willie and Maude longed to taste a morange! The Zankiwank evidently enjoyed the one he had, for he said it tasted just like mango, ice cream, blackberries and plum tart all mixed up together, so that it must have been nice.
After the feast Titania said she must be going, ​as she felt certain that there were some invisible mortals present. She could hear them breathing! At this Robin Goodfellow grew nervous, and the children got frightened lest the Queen should discover and punish them for their temerity.
At this moment the two children tumbled off nothing into a vacant space, making the Zankiwank scream out—“It must be the Bletherwitch in the clutches of the Nargalnannacus.” But it wasn’t, and if it had not been for Robin Goodfellow’s presence of mind, I am sure I do not know what would have happened. That lively rascal, however, guessing that he had used the wrong seeds, at once stepped forward, and taking Maude and Willie each by the hand, boldly presented them to Her Majesty as being favoured mortals
The Zankiwank took no notice of them whatever, and behaved just as though he could not see them. They called him by name without arousing his attention, for he was once more writing a telegram, only he did not know where to send it. In the distance Maude could hear the sound of voices, and she declared she could recognise the Queen singing, though Willie said it must have been her imagination because he could not. However, this is what Maude said she heard:—
While Maudie was pondering over the meaning of these words, she was suddenly lifted off her feet, and, when she recovered from the shock, found herself with Willie in a balloon, while down below the Zankiwank was fondly embracing the Jackarandajam, who had just arrived with a whole army of odd-looking people, including Jack-the-Giant-Killer, Tom Thumb, Blue Beard, and all his wives, with Sister Anne, Dick
“Keep the pot a-boiling; keep the pot a-boiling,” bawled the Zankiwank, and away they all went again, helter skelter, in and out, and up and down, like skaters on a rink.
Gradually the balloon altered its course, and instead of going up it went straight ahead to a large inpenetrable wall that seemed to threaten them with destruction; while, to the annoyance of both Maude and Willie, they could hear the revellers down below dancing and singing as though they were in no jeopardy. And if the words had been correct they would have declared that it was the Mariners of England who were singing their own song:—
With a bump, and a thump, and a jump, the balloon burst against the wall, and Maude and Willie felt themselves dropping, dropping, dropping, until the Zankiwank bounced up and caught them both in his arms, saying as he rushed forward:—
“Quick, the gates are only open for five seconds once a week, and if we don’t get inside at once we shall be jammed in the door-way.”
So into Shadow Land they tumbled as the porter mumbled and grumbled and shut the gate with a boom and a bang after them.