Chapter XXX

                Master Ambrose Keeps His Vow


At first the Crabapple Blossoms felt as if they had awakened
from an evil dream, but they soon found that it was a dream
that had profoundly influenced their souls.  Though they
showed no further desire to run away and roam the hills,
they were moody, silent, prone to attacks of violent
weeping, and haunted by some nameless fear -- strange
melancholy denizens, in fact, of the comfortable, placid
homes of their parents.
   One would not have imagined that a daughter in this
condition would have met with much sympathy from Master
Ambrose Honeysuckle.  Nevertheless, his tenderness and
patience with Moonlove proved boundless.  Night after night
he sat by her holding her hand till she fell asleep, and by
day he soothed her ravings, and in her quieter moments they
would have long intimate talks together, such as they had
never had before she ran away.  And the result of these
talks was that his stiff but fundamentally honest mind was
beginning to creak on its hinges.  And he would actually
listen without protest when Moonlove expressed her
conviction that although fairy fruit had robbed her of her
peace of mind, nevertheless nothing but fairy fruit could
restore it to her, and that at Miss Primrose Crabapple's she
had either been given the wrong kind or not enough.
   The reign of winter was now established, and
Lud-in-the-Mist seemed at last to have settled down into its
old peaceful rut.
   Master Nathaniel had turned into "poor old Nat," and was
to most people no more than a lovable ghost of the past. 
Indeed, Master Polydore was thinking of suggesting to Dame
Marigold that two empty coffins should be placed in the
Chanticleers' chapel bearing respectively the names of
Nathaniel and Ranulph.
   As for the Senate, it was very busy preparing for its
annual banquet, which was celebrated every December in the
Guildhall, to commemorate the expulsion of the Dukes; and it
was kept fully occupied by such important questions as how
many turkeys should be ordered and from what poulterers;
which Senator was to have the privilege of providing the
wine, and which the marzipan and ginger; and whether they
would be justified in expending on goose liver and peacocks'
hearts the sum left them in the will of a late linen-draper,
to be devoted to the general welfare of the inhabitants of
Lud-in-the-Mist. 
   But one morning a polished conceit of Master Polydore's
concerning "that sweet and pungent root commonly known as
ginger, a kindly snake who stings us that we may better
enjoy the fragrant juice of the grape," was rudely
interrupted by the sudden entry of Mumchance, his eyes
almost starting out of his head with terror, with the
appalling tidings that an army of Fairies had crossed the
Debatable Hills, and that crowds of terrified peasants were
pouring into Lud.
   The news produced something like pandemonium in the
Senate.  Everyone began talking at once, and a dozen
different schemes of defence were mooted, each one more
senseless than the last.
   Then Master Ambrose Honeysuckle rose to his feet.  He was
the man that carried most weight among his colleagues, and
all eyes were turned to him expectantly.
   In a calm, matter of fact voice, he began thus: "Senators
of Dorimare!  Before the entry of the Captain of the
Yeomanry we were discussing what desert we should have at
our annual feast.  It seems unnecessary to start a fresh
subject of discussion before the previous one has been
settled to our satisfaction.  So, with your permission, I
will return to the sweet and pungent (I think these were his
Worship's well-chosen words) subject of dessert; for there
is one item I should like to add to those that have already
been suggested."
   He paused, and then he said in a loud challenging voice,
"Senators of Dorimare!  I propose that for the first time
since the foundation of our annual feast, we should partake
at it of... *fairy fruit*!"
   His colleagues stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. 
Was this some ill-timed jest?  But Ambrose was not given to
jesting... especially on serious occasions.
   Then, with a certain rough poetry breaking through the
artificial diction of the Senate, he began to speak of the
events of the year that was nearly over, and the lessons to
be learned from them.  And the chief lessons, he said, were
those of humility and faith.
   He ended thus: "One of our proverbs says, `Remember that
the Dapple flows into the Dawl.'  I have sometimes wondered,
recently, whether we have ever really understood the true
meaning of that proverb.  Our ancestors built the town of
Lud-in-the-Mist between these two rivers, and both have
brought us their tribute.  The tribute of the Dawl has been
gold, and we have gladly accepted it.  But the tribute of
the Dapple we have ever spurned.  The Dapple -- our placid
old friend, in whose waters we learned as lads the gentle
art of angling -- has silently, through the centuries, been
bringing fairy fruit into Dorimare... a fact that, to my
mind, at least, proves that fairy fruit is as wholesome and
necessary for man as the various other gifts brought for our
welfare by our silent friends -- the Dawl's gift of gold,
the earth's gift of corn, the hills' gift of shelter and
pasturage, and the trees' gift of grapes and apples and
shade. 
   "And if all the gifts of Life are good, perhaps, too, are
all the shapes she chooses to take, and which we cannot
alter.  The shape she has taken now for Dorimare is that of
an invasion by our ancient foes.  Why should we not make a
virtue of necessity and throw our gates wide to them as
friends?"
   His colleagues, at first, expressed themselves as
horrified.  But perhaps they, too, though unknown to
themselves, had been altered by recent events.
   At any rate, this was one of the crises when the
strongest man inevitably finds himself at the helm.  And
there could be no doubt that the strongest man in the Senate
was Master Ambrose Honeysuckle.
   When the Senate rose, he addressed the terrified populace
from the market-place, with the result that before nightfall
he had quieted the panic-stricken crowds and had persuaded
the citizens, with the exception of such models of
old-fashioned respectability as Ebeneezor Prim, to accept
with calm passivity whatever the future might hold in store.
   His two most ardent supporters were Sebastian Thug and
the disreputable Bawdy Bess.
   Only a few months ago what would he have said if someone
had told him the day would come when he, Ambrose
Honeysuckle, would turn demagogue, and, assisted by a rough
sailor and a woman of the town, would be exhorting the
citizens of Lud-in-the-Mist to throw wide their gates and
welcome in the Fairies!
   
   So, instead of repairing its walls and testing its cannon
and laying in provision against a siege, Lud-in-the-Mist
hoisted its flags and festooned its windows with wreaths of
Duke Aubrey's ivy, and flung the west gate wide open; and a
thong of silent, expectant people lined the streets and
waited.
   First came the sounds of wild sweet music, then the tramp
of a myriad feet, and then, like hosts of leaves blown on
the wind, the invading army came pouring into the town.
   As he watched, Master Ambrose remembered the transfigured
tapestry in the Guildhall, and the sense they had had of
noisy, gaudy, dominant dreams flooding the streets and
scattering reality in their wake.
   Behind the battalions of mail-clad dead marched three
gigantic old men, with long white beards reaching below
their girdles.  Their long stiff robes were embroidered in
gold and jewels with strange emblems, and behind them were
led sumpter mules laden with coffers of wrought gold.  And
the rumour passed through the waiting crowd that these were
none other than the balsam-eating priests of the sun and
moon.
   And bringing up the rear on a great white charger was --
Master Nathaniel Chanticleer, with Ranulph riding by his
side.

           *        *        *        *       

   The accounts of what took place immediately after the
entry of the fairy army read more like legends than history.
   It would seem that the trees broke into leaf and the
masts of all the ships in the bay into blossom; that day and
night the cocks crowed without ceasing; that violets and
anemones sprang up through the snow in the streets, and that
mothers embraced their dead sons, and maids their
sweethearts drowned at sea.
   But one thing seems certain, and that is that the
gold-wrought coffers contained the ancient offering of fairy
fruit to Dorimare.  And the coffers were of such miraculous
capacity that there was enough and to spare, not only for
the dessert of the Senate, but for that of every household
in Lud-in-the-Mist.