Dick, Marjorie and Fidge | Page 3

am," admitted the Dodo. "It's lovely being extinct," he added,
complacently. "Have you ever tried it?"
"Good gracious, no," cried Dick.
"What does it mean, Dick, dear?" whispered Marjorie, who didn't like
to appear ignorant.
"Gone out, I think," explained Dick. "Anyhow, they say a volcano is
extinct when it has gone out."
"Yes, that's quite right," explained the Dodo, with a wink. "Haven't you
ever heard the vulgar expression, 'Does your mother know you're out?'
Well, where I come from, we just say, 'Is your maternal relative aware
of your extinction?' instead. It's the same thing, you know, and sounds
ever so much better. Then, again, it's most convenient, if any one calls
whom you don't wish to see, just to tell the servants to say that you are

extinct, and there is an end of the matter. But I mustn't stop all day, I
must be off to sea."
"Are you going to sea on that chair?" cried Marjorie.
"Well, it's as good as a table anyhow, as far as I can see," laughed the
Dodo. "Yes, I've an appointment with an Ichthyosaurus at the Equator
at noon, so I must be off. Good-by. Oh! while I think of it, though, if
you do come across him, you might give him my love, and tell him that
I'm extinct, will you please? Ha--ha--he will be amused!"
"Who do you mean?" called out Dick, as the Dodo floated away on his
chair.
"The little Panjandrum," was the reply; "you are pretty sure to meet
him sooner or later."
"Oh, we're going to see the Pan--jan--de--lum," announced Fidge,
capering about in glee. "Hooray!"
In the meantime the table had drifted on till the house was quite out of
sight, and had reached the base of the cliffs, where the smugglers' cave
was. The children had been there ever so many times before, and knew
of a little gap in the rocks where, if only their boat would drift near
enough, they could land, and clamber up to the roadway again. The
boat, however, passed the gap, and drifted straight underneath the cave,
from whence came a confused babel of sounds.
The children looked up, and a moment afterwards a crowd of the
funniest little people imaginable came to the edge and peered over.
"What rum little beggars!" cried Dick. "Just look at their eyes!"
"I do believe they are Brownies, or else Gnomes!" declared Marjorie,
who had read a great many fairy stories.
"Nonsense!" said Dick, with a superior air; "there are no such things
now-a-days."

[Illustration: "A rope ladder was let down."]
"Who says so?" shrieked the little people from the cave. "Come up here,
and we'll soon show you."
"Oh, yes, do!" cried Marjorie, clapping her hands; "I should love to see
them."
"I don't see how we are going to get up there," said Dick, dubiously;
"we haven't got a ladder."
"We have one," shouted the little people. "Shall we let it down?"
"Oh, yes, please," clamored Marjorie, and immediately afterwards a
rope ladder was let down, and one or two of the little men hung over
the ledge to steady it.
"Come along," cried Marjorie, leading the way, while Fidge followed
next, repeating over and over, with a delighted chuckle, "We are going
to see the Pan--jan--de--lum! We are going to see the
Pan--jan--de--lum!"
CHAPTER II.
THE AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY.
At the top of the ladder the children found themselves in the midst of a
crowd of curious little pigmies, dressed in all sorts of quaint and
fantastic costumes.
They were the oddest little creatures that you can possibly imagine,
with eyes and ears that seemed to be too big for their heads, and tiny
little spindle legs that looked quite incapable of supporting their big
bodies.
They spoke in a shrill, clear, bell-like voice, which, although they were
such tiny creatures, could be heard distinctly.

"So you don't believe in fairies, eh!" they cried, clustering about the
children.
"I do," declared Marjorie, stoutly.
"Yes, and me do, too," said Fidge, looking about him delightedly.
"But," objected Dick, "I've always been told that fairies, and elves, and
gnomes, and things of that sort were merely myths, and existed only in
the imagination of story-tellers."
"He--he--he," giggled the little people. "The same old story. They told
you that to hide their ignorance, my child."
"I'm thirteen years old," declared Dick, haughtily, for he did not at all
approve of being called a child.
"Oh, are you indeed!" was the reply, amid shouts of laughter. "I
suppose you think yourself quite a man, and are consequently too old to
believe in the fairies, who are more than thirteen thousand years old."
"You know you used to believe in them, Dick," interposed Marjorie.
"Don't you remember how we used to enjoy that lovely