For a moment Diggeldy Dan made as if to follow. Then he turned, and holding his hat very tightly, as if fearing he might lose the watch that was to be so useful on the morrow, he skipped away toward the great tent from whence the music came, singing as he ran.
CHAPTER III IN WHICH DAN RELEASES THE ANIMALS OF SPANGLELAND
As the sun sank to rest behind the tents of Spangleland, on the day following the visit of the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes, it paused for a moment—as the sun sometimes will—and shot one last, long, lingering beam toward the little white tent which, as you will remember, played a part in the beginning of this tale. Had you been near at the time—and possessed some knack at riding sun beams—you might have mounted this one and ridden straight through the wee open place that served as a peep-hole for the wee little eye when the blue bird was first seen in the west. For it was through this tiny chink that the sunbeam passed and, having gained entrance, landed plump on the nose of Diggeldy Dan.
Indeed, it came so suddenly that the clown—who sat hunched over on the top of a gayly painted box, lost in deep thought—mistook it for a bright yellow bee and tried to brush it aside. And then he saw his mistake and, sitting up very straight, glanced upward to the hole in the wall.
“Oho! Little sunbeam; so you’ve come to remind me!” he cried. “Yes, yes. Now I will put on my hat and wait for the Petal Watch to tell me the time.”
As he did so he noticed that—just as before—all those who were near him were quite fast asleep. And, looking up and then down the inside of the tent, at all the many clowns that had been packed off to Slumberland, and all the queer, colored thingamajigs and all the odd do-dads that clowns always keep near, he waited for a sign from the watch. He did not wait long, for soon he felt something tickling the top of his smooth white head and, removing his hat ever so carefully, there he saw—exactly as the Pretty Lady had promised—the unfolding petals of a wonderful flower.
“Surely, now,” reasoned Dan, “it must be half-past twilight.”
So, slipping down from the box, he tiptoed in and out through the sleeping forms, passed to the open space between the little white tent and all the bigger tents, picked his way among the gayly dressed men and the women who drowsed in the chairs or lay stretched on the grass and, once clear of them, skipped away as fast as ever his two legs would carry him in the direction of the great tent where lived the monkeys, and tigers, and lions, and things. Reaching its entrance, he spied all the keepers leaning against the poles of the tent. But they, too, were asleep—their chins buried deep on their breasts. Then he advanced to the very center of the vast circle, formed by all the red and golden cages. And, at sight of this funny old clown in the polka-dot suit, there went up such a cry from the animals that, for the moment, Diggeldy Dan was tempted to skip away even faster than he had come. For never had he heard any such shout, which—but for the fact that the people of the circus were in a very deep sleep—must have wakened every one of them. But the keepers slept on, and soon Dan came to realize that the voices were joining in a sort of chant. Putting his head to one side he listened ever so intently; and then a great smile broke over his face. For gradually the chant took form. Yes, it was quite distinct now. The animals were shouting, in almost as many keys as there were voices: