“Yes, isn’t it?” I said. Exactly what I have always thought about it. Don’t move.”
She did not move.
THE IDLE KING
There was once a King of Aldebaran, and he was probably the very idlest man in the world. He would sit on his throne and do nothing from morning till night. And then he would go to bed, and the next day it would be just the same. He did nothing but sit still. And he was not even nice to look at. It was not quite his fault that he was so lazy. His people would never let him do anything for himself. Sometimes he would say, “It is a fine day. I will make a law.” And then the Vizier would come bustling up, murmuring, “Excuse me, your Majesty, one moment.” And he would call Parliament together and take the law out of the King’s hands and make it for him. And sometimes the King would say, “It is a fine day. I will go a-hunting.” And then the Lord Chief Huntsman would jump on his horse, shouting, “Don’t you trouble yourself, your Majesty. Allow me.” And then he would blow his horn, and ride off, and not come back for the whole day. And the King began to grow very tired of doing nothing. He could not enjoy his meals or the sunshine, or his dogs, or cats, or anything. So one day when the Vizier was busy making a law which he had specially wanted to make himself, and the Lord Chief Huntsman had gone off with his hawk and his hound to save his Majesty the trouble of hunting, he took off his crown and his beautiful clothes, dressed himself up in a very old suit and a very old cap, and started out by the back door of the Palace to see the world.
It was nearly his tea-time when he had started, and he soon began to grow hungry. It was about this time that the Lord Chief Butler always brought him a pot of tea (which, of course, he was never allowed to pour out for himself, though he wanted to dreadfully), and a plate of hot buttered toast, and little cakes with chocolate on them. So he went to the nearest cottage, and knocked at the door. It was quite a treat for him to knock at a door all by himself. Generally the Lord Chief Footman did it for him.
“Come in,” said a voice. “And mind the step.”
The King went in. Round the table were seated the cottager, his wife, and his children.
“Please, I want some tea,” said the King.
“You will have to work for it,” said the cottager.
“What is work, please? Is it what everybody else does for me?”
“It’s not what everybody else does for me, at any rate,” said the cottager, with a jolly laugh, “and thank goodness they don’t. What I should do if everybody did my work for me, I do not know. I should be so dull that I should have no appetite for tea. Whereas now,” he added, taking a huge bite out of a piece of bread-and-jam, “my appetite is exceedingly good, thanks very much, and so forth.”
And swallowing his bread-and-jam, he sang the following verse, to which the whole family beat time with their teaspoons.
Oh, I think a man’s crazy who’s idle and lazy, I pity the people who shirk. It’s a pound to a shilling, you’ll smile if you’re willing To work! work! work! If you don’t see the beauty of doing your duty, Your happiness stops with a jerk. So I counsel you, dunce, to start learning at once, And work! work! work!
It was rather a pretty song.
“That sounds very sensible indeed,” said the King, when he had finished. “I should like to begin now, if I may. What shall I do?”
“In yonder yard,” replied the cottager, “is some wood. Chop it. Will somebody kindly be good enough to oblige me by passing the jam?”
So the King went out into the yard, and though he did not know very much about chopping wood (for the Lord Chief Woodman always did that for him), he somehow managed to finish it in time. And then be went back, and settled down to a really good tea.