King Kitticut now addressed the stranger, saying courteously:
“You are welcome to the Kingdom of Pingaree. Perhaps you will deign to come ashore and at your convenience inform us whom we have the honor of receiving as a guest.”
“Thanks; I will,” returned the little fat man, waddling from his place in the boat and stepping, with some difficulty, upon the sandy beach. “I am King Rinkitink, of the City of Gilgad in the Kingdom of Rinkitink, and I have come to Pingaree to see for myself the monarch who sends to my city so many beautiful pearls. I have long wished to visit this island; and so, as I said before, here I am!”
“I am pleased to welcome you,” said King Kitticut. “But why has Your Majesty so few attendants? Is it not dangerous for the King of a great country to make distant journeys in one frail boat, and with but twenty men?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” answered King Rinkitink, with a laugh. “But what else could I do? My subjects would not allow me to go anywhere at all, if they knew it. So I just ran away.”
“Ran away!” exclaimed King Kitticut in surprise.
“Funny, isn’t it? Heh, heh, heh—woo, hoo!” laughed Rinkitink, and this is as near as I can spell with letters the jolly sounds of his laughter. “Fancy a King running away from his own ple—hoo, hoo—keek, eek, eek, eek! But I had to, don’t you see!”
“Why?” asked the other King.
“They’re afraid I’ll get into mischief. They don’t trust me. Keek-eek-eek—Oh, dear me! Don’t trust their own King. Funny, isn’t it?”
“No harm can come to you on this island,” said Kitticut, pretending not to notice the odd ways of his guest. “And, whenever it pleases you to return to your own country, I will send with you a fitting escort of my own people. In the meantime, pray accompany me to my palace, where everything shall be done to make you comfortable and happy.”
“Much obliged,” answered Rinkitink, tipping his white cap over his left ear and heartily shaking the hand of his brother monarch. “I’m sure you can make me comfortable if you’ve plenty to eat. And as for being happy—ha, ha, ha, ha!—why, that’s my trouble. I’m too happy. But stop! I’ve brought you some presents in those boxes. Please order your men to carry them up to the palace.”
“Certainly,” answered King Kitticut, well pleased, and at once he gave his men the proper orders.
“And, by the way,” continued the fat little King, “let them also take my goat from his cage.”
“A goat!” exclaimed the King of Pingaree.
“Exactly; my goat Bilbil. I always ride him wherever I go, for I’m not at all fond of walking, being a trifle stout—eh, Kitticut?—a trifle stout! Hoo, hoo, hoo-keek, eek!”
The Pingaree people started to lift the big cage out of the boat, but just then a gruff voice cried: “Be careful, you villains!” and as the words seemed to come from the goat’s mouth the men were so astonished that they dropped the cage upon the sand with a sudden jar.
“There! I told you so!” cried the voice angrily. “You’ve rubbed the skin off my left knee. Why on earth didn’t you handle me gently?”
“There, there, Bilbil,” said King Rinkitink soothingly; “don’t scold, my boy. Remember that these are strangers, and we their guests.” Then he turned to Kitticut and remarked: “You have no talking goats on your island, I suppose.”
“We have no goats at all,” replied the King; “nor have we any animals, of any sort, who are able to talk.”
“I wish my animal couldn’t talk, either,” said Rinkitink, winking comically at Inga and then looking toward the cage. “He is very cross at times, and indulges in language that is not respectful. I thought, at first, it would be fine to have a talking goat, with whom I could converse as I rode about my city on his back; but—keek-eek-eek-eek!—the rascal treats me as if I were a chimney sweep instead of a King. Heh, heh, heh, keek, eek! A chimney sweep-hoo, hoo, hoo!—and me a King! Funny, isn’t it?” This last was addressed to Prince Inga, whom he chucked familiarly under the chin, to the boy’s great embarrassment.
“Why do you not ride a horse?” asked King Kitticut.
“I can’t climb upon his back, being rather stout; that’s why. Kee, kee, keek, eek!—rather stout—hoo, hoo, hoo!” He paused to wipe the tears of merriment from his eyes and then added: “But I can get on and off Bilbil’s back with ease.”
He now opened the cage and the goat deliberately walked out and looked about him in a sulky manner. One of the rowers brought from the boat a saddle made of red velvet and beautifully embroidered with silver thistles, which he fastened upon the goat’s back. The fat King put his leg over the saddle and seated himself comfortably, saying:
“Lead on, my noble host, and we will follow.”
“What! Up that steep hill?” cried the goat. “Get off my back at once, Rinkitink, or I won’t budge a step.
“But-consider, Bilbil,” remonstrated the King. “How am I to get up that hill unless I ride?”
“Walk!” growled Bilbil.
“But I’m too fat. Really, Bilbil, I’m surprised at you. Haven’t I brought you all this distance so you may see something of the world and enjoy life? And now you are so ungrateful as to refuse to carry me! Turn about is fair play, my boy. The boat carried you to this shore, because you can’t swim, and now you must carry me up the hill, because I can’t climb. Eh, Bilbil, isn’t that reasonable?”
“Well, well, well,” said the goat, surlily, “keep quiet and I’ll carry you. But you make me very tired, Rinkitink, with your ceaseless chatter.”
After making this protest Bilbil began walking up the hill, carrying the fat King upon his back with no difficulty whatever.
Prince Inga and his father and all the men of Pingaree were much astonished to overhear this dispute between King Rinkitink and his goat; but they were too polite to make critical remarks in the presence of their guests. King Kitticut walked beside the goat and the Prince followed after, the men coming last with the boxes of sandalwood.
When they neared the palace, the Queen and her maidens came out to meet them and the royal guest was escorted in state to the splendid throne room of the palace. Here the boxes were opened and King Rinkitink displayed all the beautiful silks and laces and jewelry with which they were filled. Every one of the courtiers and ladies received a handsome present, and the King and Queen had many rich gifts and Inga not a few. Thus the time passed pleasantly until the Chamberlain announced that dinner was served.
Bilbil the goat declared that he preferred eating of the sweet, rich grass that grew abundantly in the palace grounds, and Rinkitink said that the beast could never bear being shut up in a stable; so they removed the saddle from his back and allowed him to wander wherever he pleased.
During the dinner Inga divided his attention between admiring the pretty gifts he had received and listening to the jolly sayings of the fat King, who laughed when he was not eating and ate when he was not laughing and seemed to enjoy himself immensely.
“For four days I have lived in that narrow boat,” said he, “with no other amusement than to watch the rowers and quarrel with Bilbil; so I am very glad to be on land again with such friendly and agreeable people.”
“You do us great honor,” said King Kitticut, with a polite bow.
“Not at all—not at all, my brother. This Pingaree must be a wonderful island, for its pearls are the admiration of all the world; nor will I deny the fact that my kingdom would be a poor one without the riches and glory it derives from the trade in your pearls. So I have wished for many years to come here to see you, but my people said: ‘No! Stay at home and behave yourself, or we’ll know the reason why.’”
“Will they not miss Your Majesty from your palace at Gilgad?” inquired Kitticut.
“I think not,” answered Rinkitink. “You see, one of my clever subjects has written a parchment entitled ‘How to be Good,’ and I believed it would benefit me to study it, as I consider the accomplishment of being good one of the fine arts. I had just scolded severely
my Lord High Chancellor for coming to breakfast without combing his eyebrows, and was so sad and regretful at having hurt the poor man’s feelings that I decided to shut myself up in my own room and study the scroll until I knew how to be good—hee, heek, keek, eek, eek!—to be good! Clever idea, that, wasn’t it? Mighty clever! And I issued a decree that no one should enter my room, under pain of my royal displeasure, until I was ready to come out. They’re awfully afraid of my royal displeasure, although not a bit afraid of me. Then I put the parchment in my pocket and escaped through the back door to my boat—and here I am. Oo, hoo-hoo, keek-eek! Imagine the fuss there would be in Gilgad if my subjects knew where I am this very minute!”
“I would like to see that parchment,” said the solemn-eyed Prince Inga, “for if it indeed teaches one to be good it must be worth its weight in pearls.”
“Oh, it’s a fine essay,” said Rinkitink, “and beautifully written with a goosequill. Listen to this: You’ll enjoy it—tee, hee, hee!—enjoy it.”
He took from his pocket a scroll of parchment tied with a black ribbon, and having carefully unrolled it, he proceeded to read as follows:
“‘A Good Man is One who is Never Bad.’ How’s that, eh? Fine thought, what? ‘Therefore, in order to be Good, you must avoid those Things which are Evil.’ Oh, hoo-hoo-hoo!—how clever! When I get back I shall make the man who wrote that a royal hippolorum, for, beyond question, he is the wisest man in my kingdom—as he has often told me himself.” With this, Rinkitink lay back in his chair and chuckled his queer chuckle until he coughed, and coughed until he choked and choked until he sneezed. And he wrinkled his face in such a jolly, droll way that few could keep from laughing with him, and even the good Queen was forced to titter behind her fan.
When Rinkitink had recovered from his fit of laughter and had wiped his eyes upon a fine lace handkerchief, Prince Inga said to him:
“The parchment speaks truly.”
“Yes, it is true beyond doubt,” answered Rinkitink, “and if I could persuade Bilbil to read it he would be a much better goat than he is now. Here is another selection: ‘To avoid saying Unpleasant Things, always Speak Agreeably.’ That would hit Bilbil, to a dot. And here is one that applies to you, my Prince: ‘Good Children are seldom punished, for the reason that they deserve no punishment.’ Now, I think that is neatly put, and shows the author to be a deep thinker. But the advice that has impressed me the most is in the following paragraph: ‘You may not find it as Pleasant to be Good as it is to be Bad, but Other People will find it more Pleasant.’ Haw-hoo-ho! keek-eek! ‘Other people will find it more pleasant!’—hee, hee, heek, keek!—‘more pleasant.’ Dear me—dear me! Therein lies a noble incentive to be good, and whenever I get time I’m surely going to try it.”
Then he wiped his eyes again with the lace handkerchief and, suddenly remembering his dinner, seized his knife and fork and began eating.
Chapter Three - The Warriors from the North
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King Rinkitink was so much pleased with the Island of Pingaree that he continued his stay day after day and week after week, eating good dinners, talking with King Kitticut and sleeping. Once in a while he would read from his scroll. “For,” said he, “whenever I return home, my subjects will be anxious to know if I have learned ‘How to be Good,’ and I must not disappoint them.”
The twenty rowers lived on the small end of the island, with the pearl fishers, and seemed not to care whether they ever returned to the Kingdom of Rinkitink or not. Bilbil the goat wandered over the grassy slopes, or among the trees, and passed his days exactly as he pleased. His master seldom cared to ride him. Bilbil was a rare curiosity to the islanders, but since there was little pleasure in talking with the goat they kept away from him. This pleased the creature, who seemed well satisfied to be left to his own devices.
Once Prince Inga, wishing to be courteous, walked up to the goat and said: “Good morning, Bilbil.”
“It isn’t a good morning,” answered Bilbil grumpily. “It is cloudy and damp, and looks like rain.”
“I hope you are contented in our kingdom,” continued the boy, politely ignoring the other’s harsh words.
“I’m not,” said Bilbil. “I’m never contented; so it doesn’t matter to me whether I’m in your kingdom or in some other kingdom. Go away—will you?”
“Certainly,” answered the Prince, and after this rebuff he did not again try to make friends with Bilbil.
Now that the King, his father, was so much occupied with his royal guest, Inga was often left to amuse himself, for a boy could not be allowed to take part in the conversation of two great monarchs. He devoted himself to his studies, therefore, and day after day he climbed into the branches of his favorite tree and sat for hours in his “tree-top rest,” reading his father’s precious manuscripts and thinking upon what he read.
You must not think that Inga was a molly-coddle or a prig, because he was so solemn and studious. Being a King’s son and heir to a throne, he could not play with the other boys of Pingaree, and he lived so much in the society of the King and Queen, and was so surrounded by the pomp and dignity of a court, that he missed all the jolly times that boys usually have. I have no doubt that had he been able to live as other boys do, he would have been much like other boys; as it was, he was subdued by his surroundings, and more grave and thoughtful than one of his years should be.
Inga was in his tree one morning when, without warning, a great fog enveloped the Island of Pingaree. The boy could scarcely see the tree next to that in which he sat, but the leaves above him prevented the dampness from wetting him, so he curled himself up in his seat and fell fast asleep.
All that forenoon the fog continued. King Kitticut, who sat in his palace talking with his merry visitor, ordered the candles lighted, that they might be able to see one another. The good Queen, Inga’s mother, found it was too dark to work at her embroidery, so she called her maidens together and told them wonderful stories of bygone days, in order to pass away the dreary hours.
But soon after noon the weather changed. The dense fog rolled away like a heavy cloud and suddenly the sun shot his bright rays over the island.
“Very good!” exclaimed King Kitticut. “We shall have a pleasant afternoon, I am sure,” and he blew out the candles.
Then he stood a moment motionless, as if turned to stone, for a terrible cry from without the palace reached his ears—a cry so full of fear and horror that the King’s heart almost stopped beating. Immediately there was a scurrying of feet as every one in the palace, filled with dismay, rushed outside to see what had happened. Even fat little Rinkitink sprang from his chair and followed his host and the others through the arched vestibule.
After many years the worst fears of King Kitticut were realized.
Landing upon the beach, which was but a few steps from the palace itself, were hundreds of boats, every one filled with a throng of fierce warriors. They sprang upon the land with wild shouts of defiance and rushed to the King’s palace, waving aloft their swords and spears and battleaxes.
King Kitticut, so completely surprised that he was bewildered, gazed at the approaching host with terror and grief.
“They are the men of Regos and Coregos!” he groaned. “We are, indeed, lost!”
Then he bethought himself, for the first time, of his wonderful pearls. Turning quickly, he ran back into the palace and hastened to the hall where the treasures were hidden. But the leader of the warriors had seen the King enter the palace and bounded after him, thinking he meant to escape. Just as the King had stooped to press the secret spring in the tiles, the warrior seized him from the rear and threw him backward upon the floor, at the same time shouting to his men to fetch ropes and bind the prisoner. This they did very quickly and King Kitticut soon found himself helplessly bound and in the power of his enemies. In this sad condition he was lifted by the warriors and carried outside, when the good King looked upon a sorry sight.
The Queen and her maidens, the officers and se
rvants of the royal household and all who had inhabited this end of the Island of Pingaree had been seized by the invaders and bound with ropes. At once they began carrying their victims to the boats, tossing them in as unceremoniously as if they had been bales of merchandise.
The King looked around for his son Inga, but failed to find the boy among the prisoners. Nor was the fat King, Rinkitink, to be seen anywhere about.
The warriors were swarming over the palace like bees in a hive, seeking anyone who might be in hiding, and after the search had been prolonged for some time the leader asked impatiently: “Do you find anyone else?”
“No,” his men told him. “We have captured them all.”
“Then,” commanded the leader, “remove everything of value from the palace and tear down its walls and towers, so that not one stone remains upon another!”
While the warriors were busy with this task we will return to the boy Prince, who, when the fog lifted and the sun came out, wakened from his sleep and began to climb down from his perch in the tree. But the terrifying cries of the people, mingled with the shouts of the rude warriors, caused him to pause and listen eagerly.
Then he climbed rapidly up the tree, far above his platform, to the topmost swaying branches. This tree, which Inga called his own, was somewhat taller than the other trees that surrounded it, and when he had reached the top he pressed aside the leaves and saw a great fleet of boats upon the shore—strange boats, with banners that he had never seen before. Turning to look upon his father’s palace, he found it surrounded by a horde of enemies. Then Inga knew the truth: that tile island had been invaded by the barbaric warriors from the north. He grew so faint from the terror of it all that he might have fallen had he not wound his arms around a limb and clung fast until the dizzy feeling passed away. Then with his sash he bound himself to the limb and again ventured to look out through the leaves.