Now the Leaflanders were quite too well-bred ever to have used or heard so barbarous a word as "gony." Nevertheless, reason and instinct both taught them, as it will teach all people of refined sensibilities, that to be called a gony is to be called something very disagreeable; and if anything can heighten the unpleasant sensation, it is to be called "a pack of gonies." Consequently the Leaflanders began to look at each other blankly, and even to suspect that possibly they had been making fools of themselves. But Chipmonk did not leave them long in suspense. "Your terrible Red-coats are your own selves," he cried. "I have heard of people being frightened by their own shadow; but never, in all my born days, did I hear of any one being frightened by his own shine." "Now will you explain yourself?" cried one of the young ladies, her curiosity getting the better of her chagrin. All the old men and the young men were longing to know, but were too proud to ask; but the question being asked for them, they were glad enough to crowd in, and hear the answer. "It is only this, and nothing more," answered Chipmonk, ejecting a pine-seed from his mouth. "You are all going to have a new suit of clothes, more splendid than you ever saw in your lives,--yellow and brown and spotted, and all manner of magnificent colors, but chiefly red; and then you will be Red-coats, won't you? Wood-thrush came from north, where the tailoring began; and he saw it, and told you. It is a sign for him to be up and flying. He thought it would be his excuse for declining your invitation, instead of which you all went thrusting your heads into a bramble-bush. O my!" "But say, Chipmonk, do you know this? Are you sure of it? It seems too good news to be true." "Well, all I can say is, I have lived here, man and boy, nigh on to forty months; and I know it always _has_ happened about this time. I am young for a Chipmonk; but I was in full career long before the oldest crone among you was born; and if there is anything hereabouts that I don't know, you may take your affidavit it isn't worth knowing." And he sat back, and betook himself once more to his "confiscated" corn with the most indifferent superiority. Oh! but there was gladness then in Leafland, you may be sure. All their sadness was turned to rejoicing; and even then the work of transformation--called, in squirrelicular, "tailoring"--began. Old and young, men and maids, felt a glory in their blood. All the essence of the summer-long sunshine seemed to pour itself into their hearts. From one end of Leafland to another was only singing and dancing and delight. Mapleton crowned herself with a golden crown, and Oakwich wreathed her brows with the sunset. All the beauty of the past was dull and sombre to this new splendor, this royal magnificence, born of the ineffable light.