"During their song the Brindled Rabbit crept out of his comfit-box. He could not stay in it for laughing at the comic song. "Djorak and the Son of the Magician begged him to advise them what to do next; but the Rabbit only held its sides with laughter, and made no reply. "Then they questioned a Black Toad who came crawling out of a pot of treacle where he lived, and began to lick himself dry with a fine, forked tongue. "The Rabbit hopped up to him wishing to share in the treacle; but the Black Toad flew into a rage. It was a worse rage than even that of the Chief Contractor when we have not placed ourselves symmetrically," added the Mother of the Crow, remembering that Smaly and Redy had seen the Contractor in a temper. "Then," she continued, "the Son of the Magician asked the Black Toad in what country Djorak should take refuge, making the suggestion that they should send him to a green country where the clouds were all white and the trees mauve. [Illustration: AND FISH IN THE LITTLE RIVER IN THE AFTERNOON] "The Black Toad shot forward to within an inch of the Rabbit's nose; but without advancing a step, for his legs suddenly expanded to allow him to do so. "'I hate mauve and white,' he snapped, and shot back again. [Illustration: THE THIN LONG ARM OF THE HISTORIAN] "The Rabbit replied peacefully, 'How about a rose-coloured country, where the people dance as they bake the bread?' "'I would like that,' said Djorak. "'I don't doubt it,' said the Brindled Rabbit. "'Or would you like a country where they hunt butterflies all the morning, and fish in the little river in the afternoon?' asked the Rabbit. "'Yes, yes, that will do,' replied Djorak, who was anxious to get away. "'He is a misanthrope,' declared the Toad, retreating towards its pot of treacle. "'Oh, kind Toad, do tell me where I ought to go,' begged Djorak. "'Get into this little glass tube,' replied the Toad. "Djorak obeyed. "This tube was no bigger than a penholder; when Djorak was comfortably settled inside of it the Black Toad put one end of it into his mouth and blew. "He blew so hard that Djorak was shot right into our country. Then----" But here Redy interrupted the Mother of the Crow. She gave a little shake to the Tea-Cosy and whispered rapidly what she had noticed taking place on the other side of the public square. This is what she had seen. From one of the holes made for the Flying-Fish Redy perceived the thin long arm of the Historian sticking out, the finger pointing accusingly towards the door of the kitchen, where Smaly, Redy, and the Mother of the Crow were seated. The Mother of the Crow understood the significance of this at once. It meant she would not be permitted to carry her story any further. The monopoly of the chronicles of the country belonged to the Historian. The Mother of the Crow had to hold her tongue. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIII