Prince Lazybones and Other Stories | Page 8

I cook it," said Paz.
"Well, Paz, I am glad you can help me out of my difficulty," said Knops. "I really am puzzled what to do for Prince Leo's hunger. My breakfast is a wren's egg; for dinner, a sardine with a slice of mushroom is enough for four of us; for supper, a pickled mouse tongue. How long could you live on such fare, Leo?"
"Not long, I fear."
"So I supposed. Well, here is the dormitory; by pushing up a dozen or more beds, you can stretch out awhile. Meanwhile I can attend to some professional duties, after I have despatched Paz for your food. What are you going to do with that turnip, Paz?"
"An elf who can make diamonds from charcoal can perhaps produce beefsteak from a turnip," said Leo.
"Ah! don't remind me of my bitter humiliation, kind sir," said Paz, in a sad tone. "I will do what I can for you. Do you like soup?"
"Immensely."
"And roast quail?"
"Delicious!"
"Apple tart?"
"Nothing better."
"Adieu, then, for an hour."
Knops too departed, leaving Leo to look about him, with curious eyes, upon rows of little beds, each with a scarlet blanket, and each having its pitcher and basin conveniently at hand. But he soon was fast asleep.
While all this was happening to Leo, at the monastery there was great confusion. The servants had gone in a body to Prince Morpheus's bedroom to demand their wages. With tearful eyes and wailing voice he had protested that he had no money, that his life was hanging by a thread, and that his brain was on fire. They loudly urged their claims, declaring they would instantly leave the premises unless they were paid. As they could not get a satisfactory reply from their master, who hid his eyes at the sight of their angry faces, and put his fingers in his ears to keep out their noisy voices, they concluded to go; so, packing their boxes and bags, and pressing the mules and oxen into their service, they one by one went off to the nearest village.
One old woman, who had never known any other home, alone remained, and when the storm subsided and the house was quiet, Morpheus, being hungry, crawled down to the kitchen fire to find her boiling porridge.
"Where is my son?" asked Morpheus.
The old woman was deaf, and only muttered, "Gone--all gone."
"Alas! and has my son also deserted his father?" cried Morpheus.
The old woman nodded, partly with the palsy, and partly because she knew of nothing to say. Morpheus smote his forehead with a tragic gesture, and allowed himself to fall--gently--upon the floor. When he had remained in an apparent swoon long enough he was revived by some hot porridge being poured down his throat, and his hair and hands sprinkled with vinegar. Rousing himself as if with great effort, but really with great ease, he stood up, and finding the kitchen warmer than his cell, concluded to remain there; but the old woman was too stiff with rheumatism to wait upon him, so he had to ladle out his own portion of porridge, get his books and candle for himself, and finally bring in some fagots for the fire.
When he sat down to study he found himself in a more cheerful mood than he had been in for many a day, though he could not help wondering what had become of Leo. As he went on thinking where the boy could be he was inspired to write what he called a sonnet upon the subject. Here it is:
"My boy has fled his father's home, No more he treads these halls; In vain my voice invokes his name, In vain my tears, my calls. The night winds sigh, the owlets cry, The moon's pale light appears, The stars are shivering in the sky-- I tremble at my fears. Has then the Knight of Shadowy Dread My Leo forced away From his fond parent's loving heart In Death's grim halls astray? I bow reluctant to my fate; 'Tis mine to weep and mine to wait!"
He counted the lines over carefully; the eighth and tenth seemed short, but it scanned after a fashion. On the whole it suited him, and was rather better done than many of his verses, so with soothed nerves he sought his pillow.
The old woman had slumbered all the evening in her chair. Indeed her snoring had been even and regular enough to act as a measure in marking the time for the musical cadences of the sonnet.
Morpheus, having a pretty good appetite, ate some bread and cheese and drank some ale before retiring.

CHAPTER V
Leo was awakened by being rudely jostled about and tumbled upon the floor. When he opened his eyes the cause was apparent. The elves had found their beds in disorder, and not being able to see him,