was silent there was hardly a sound in the Park. Only the music of the fountain and Jane's voice coming to the end of a story.
"So that," she concluded, "was the end of the Witch. And the King and the Maiden were married next day and lived happily ever after."
Michael sighed contentedly and nibbled a leaf of clover.
Away beyond the Rose Garden, the elderly gentleman took off his glasses, spread his handkerchief over his face and dozed on the marble seat.
"Go on, Jane. Don't stop!" urged Michael. "Read another one."
Jane turned the pages of
The Silver Fairy Book.
It was worn and faded, for its life had been long and busy. Once it had belonged to Mrs. Banks, and before that it had been given to her mother by
her
mother. Many of the pictures had disappeared and the drawings had all been coloured with crayons, either by Jane and Michael or by their mother. Perhaps, even, by their Grandmother, too.
"It's so hard to choose," Jane murmured, for she loved every one of the stories.
"Well, read wherever it falls open—the way you always do!"
She closed the book, held it between her hands for a second, and then let it go. With a little thud it fell on the grass and opened right in the middle.
"Hooray!" said Michael. "It's
The Three Princes.
" And he settled himself to listen.
"Once upon a time," read Jane, "there lived a King who had three sons. The eldest was Prince Florimond, the second Prince Veritain, and the third Prince Amor. Now, it so happened that——"
"Let me see the picture!" interrupted Michael.
It was a drawing he particularly liked, for he and Jane had coloured it one rainy afternoon. The Princes were standing at the edge of a forest and the branches that spread above their heads bore fruit and flowers together. A saddled Unicorn stood beside them, with its rein looped round the arm of the eldest.
Prince Florimond was in green crayon with a purple cap. Prince Veritain had an orange jerkin and his cap was scarlet. And little Prince Amor was all in blue, with a golden dagger stuck in his belt. Chrome-coloured ringlets fell about the shoulders of the two elder brothers. And the youngest, who was bareheaded, had a yellow circlet of short curls, rather like a crown.
As for the Unicorn, he was silvery white from mane to tail—except for his eyes, which were the colour of forget-me-nots; and his horn, which was striped with red and black.
Jane and Michael gazed down at the page and smiled at the pictured children. And the three Princes smiled up from the book and seemed to lean forward from the forest.
Michael sighed. "If only I had a dagger like Amor's. It would just be about my size."
A breeze rustled the trees of the Park and the coloured drawing seemed to tremble.
"I never can choose between Florimond and Veritain," Jane murmured. "They are both so beautiful."
The fountain gave a laughing ripple and an echo of laughter seemed to come from the book.
"I'll lend it to you!" said the youngest Prince, whipping the dagger from his belt.
"Why not choose us both?" cried the two eldest, stepping forward on to the lawn.
Jane and Michael caught their breath. What had happened? Had the painted forest come to the Park? Or was it that the Rose Garden had gone into the picture? Are we there? Are they here? Which is which? they asked themselves, and could not give an answer.
"Don't you know us, Jane?" asked Florimond, smiling.
"Yes, of course!" she gasped. "But—how did you get here?"
"Didn't you see?" asked Veritain. "You smiled at us and we smiled at you. And the picture looked so shiny and bright—you and Michael and the painted roses——"
"So we jumped right into the story!" Amor concluded gaily.
"Out of it, you mean!" cried Michael. "We're not a story. We're real people. It's you who are the pictures!"
The Princes tossed their curls and laughed.
"Touch me!" said Florimond.
"Take my hand!" urged Veritain.
"Here's my dagger!" cried Amor.
Michael took the golden weapon. It was sharp and solid and
"So that," she concluded, "was the end of the Witch. And the King and the Maiden were married next day and lived happily ever after."
Michael sighed contentedly and nibbled a leaf of clover.
Away beyond the Rose Garden, the elderly gentleman took off his glasses, spread his handkerchief over his face and dozed on the marble seat.
"Go on, Jane. Don't stop!" urged Michael. "Read another one."
Jane turned the pages of
The Silver Fairy Book.
It was worn and faded, for its life had been long and busy. Once it had belonged to Mrs. Banks, and before that it had been given to her mother by
her
mother. Many of the pictures had disappeared and the drawings had all been coloured with crayons, either by Jane and Michael or by their mother. Perhaps, even, by their Grandmother, too.
"It's so hard to choose," Jane murmured, for she loved every one of the stories.
"Well, read wherever it falls open—the way you always do!"
She closed the book, held it between her hands for a second, and then let it go. With a little thud it fell on the grass and opened right in the middle.
"Hooray!" said Michael. "It's
The Three Princes.
" And he settled himself to listen.
"Once upon a time," read Jane, "there lived a King who had three sons. The eldest was Prince Florimond, the second Prince Veritain, and the third Prince Amor. Now, it so happened that——"
"Let me see the picture!" interrupted Michael.
It was a drawing he particularly liked, for he and Jane had coloured it one rainy afternoon. The Princes were standing at the edge of a forest and the branches that spread above their heads bore fruit and flowers together. A saddled Unicorn stood beside them, with its rein looped round the arm of the eldest.
Prince Florimond was in green crayon with a purple cap. Prince Veritain had an orange jerkin and his cap was scarlet. And little Prince Amor was all in blue, with a golden dagger stuck in his belt. Chrome-coloured ringlets fell about the shoulders of the two elder brothers. And the youngest, who was bareheaded, had a yellow circlet of short curls, rather like a crown.
As for the Unicorn, he was silvery white from mane to tail—except for his eyes, which were the colour of forget-me-nots; and his horn, which was striped with red and black.
Jane and Michael gazed down at the page and smiled at the pictured children. And the three Princes smiled up from the book and seemed to lean forward from the forest.
Michael sighed. "If only I had a dagger like Amor's. It would just be about my size."
A breeze rustled the trees of the Park and the coloured drawing seemed to tremble.
"I never can choose between Florimond and Veritain," Jane murmured. "They are both so beautiful."
The fountain gave a laughing ripple and an echo of laughter seemed to come from the book.
"I'll lend it to you!" said the youngest Prince, whipping the dagger from his belt.
"Why not choose us both?" cried the two eldest, stepping forward on to the lawn.
Jane and Michael caught their breath. What had happened? Had the painted forest come to the Park? Or was it that the Rose Garden had gone into the picture? Are we there? Are they here? Which is which? they asked themselves, and could not give an answer.
"Don't you know us, Jane?" asked Florimond, smiling.
"Yes, of course!" she gasped. "But—how did you get here?"
"Didn't you see?" asked Veritain. "You smiled at us and we smiled at you. And the picture looked so shiny and bright—you and Michael and the painted roses——"
"So we jumped right into the story!" Amor concluded gaily.
"Out of it, you mean!" cried Michael. "We're not a story. We're real people. It's you who are the pictures!"
The Princes tossed their curls and laughed.
"Touch me!" said Florimond.
"Take my hand!" urged Veritain.
"Here's my dagger!" cried Amor.
Michael took the golden weapon. It was sharp and solid and
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