At the fountain the Human Octopus took the precaution to again soak his multifarious pads in water, after which with his goggle eyes he cocked his head in a professional survey of the palace. Then he began to ascend one of its towering walls. Higher and higher, and still higher, he went in perfect safety until at last he gained the roof and squatted on the top of a chimney. [Illustration] There he skillfully compressed himself to fit the dimensions of the flue, after which he began to let himself gently down like an elevator-car. A great volume of black, greasy smoke from the kitchen suddenly belched forth and hid him from sight. [Illustration] It was not so long afterward that, all covered with soot, he crawled out of the big open fireplace in the throne-room. Before he did so he made sure to satisfy himself that no one was there. But there was no telling when someone might come, and he knew it behooved him to secrete himself and instantly. His goggle eyes oscillated in all directions around the room, and he craftily selected for his hiding-place a great tall clock that stood up close against the wall in a corner by itself. [Illustration] It was not a grandfather's clock, for there were no grandfathers in Queen Titania's kingdom. It was what might more properly be termed a grandmother's clock. The villain opened the door, and projected himself into the clock's interior, being obliged in order to accomplish this to make his proportions squarish and oblong. His queer-looking head showed at the top instead of the clock's face. Then with one of his tentacles glued to the door he pulled it back in its place. "Now we shall see what we shall see," he snorted. "I must be patient and bide my time." The big brass pendulum swaying rhythmically to and fro with its measured tick-tock! tick-tock! kept hitting his stomach, and it tickled him so that it was all he could do to keep from laughing. But he knew that he must not do so. If he even snickered he might betray himself. So he put a number of his tentacles over his mouth and tried hard to keep a straight face. Now, though every month was a fair month, a rare month, for the murmur of the little streams was never hushed, and the fruits and flowers always were in bloom, with the skies mostly blue above them, and the winds soft and kind, May to the fairies' way of thinking was the sweetest of all the happy year, and whenever it came round it was tendered a becoming ceremony. The Eve o' May was a holiday, though it might truthfully be said that every day was a holiday. But at this particular time when all nature was at its best there were special observances that sprang from the gladness and exultation in all hearts, the very joy of existence, and the happiness that was manifested by every living thing.