CHAPTER IX: The Merman's Story

"You can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing," said Duchess Johanna as she tucked her arm affectionately into Prim's, and they walked off together.

Prim was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper and thought to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so savage when they met in the kitchen.

"When I'm a Duchess," she said to herself, (not in a very hopeful tone though), "I won't have any pepper in my kitchen at all. Soup does very well without. Maybe it's always pepper that makes people hot-tempered," she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new kind of rule. And vinegar that makes them sour, and camomile that makes them bitter, and…and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that. Then they wouldn't be so stingy about it, you know—

She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time and was a little startled when she heard Johanna's voice close to her ear. "You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit."

"Perhaps it hasn't one," Prim ventured to remark.

"Tut, tut, child," said Duchess Johanna. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it." And she squeezed herself up closer to Prim's side as she spoke.

Prim did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because Johanna was very strong, and secondly, because she had taken to skipping her baths. And though Prim could feel Johanna's nails digging into her shoulder, Prim did not like to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could. "The game's going on rather better now," she said by way of keeping up the conversation a little.

"'Tis so," said Duchess Johanna, "and the moral of that is, 'Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round.'"

"Somebody said," Prim whispered, "that it's done by everybody minding their own business."

"Ah, well. It means much the same thing," said Duchess Johanna, digging her sharp nails deeper into Prim's shoulder as she added, "and the moral of that is, 'Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.'"

How fond she is of finding morals in things, Prim thought to herself.

"I dare say you're wondering why I don't put my arm round your waist," Johanna said after a pause. "The reason is that I'm doubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?"

"He might bite," Prim cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious to have the experiment tried.

"Very true," said Duchess Johanna. "Flamingos and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is, 'Birds of a feather flock together.'"

"Only mustard isn't a bird," Prim remarked.

"Right, as usual," said the Duchess. "What a clear way you have of putting things."

"It's a mineral, I think," added Prim.

"Of course it is," said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to everything that Prim said. "There's a large mustard-mine near here. And the moral of that is, 'The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.'"

"Oh, I know," exclaimed Prim, who had not attended to this last remark. "It's a vegetable. It doesn't look like one, but it is."

"I quite agree with you," said the Duchess, "and the moral of that is, 'Be what you would seem to be' or if you'd like it put more simply, 'Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.'"

"I think I should understand that better," Prim said very politely, "if I had it written down, for I can't quite follow it as you say it."

"That's nothing to what I could say if I chose," Duchess Johanna replied, in a pleased tone.

"Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than that," said Prim.

"Oh, don't talk about trouble," said Duchess Johanna. "I make you a present of everything I've said as yet."

A cheap sort of present! thought Prim. I'm glad they don't give birthday presents like that! However, she did not venture to say this out loud.

"Thinking again?" Duchess Johanna asked with another dig of her sharp fingernails.

"I've a right to think," said Prim sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried.

"Just about as much right," said Johanna, "as pigs have to fly, and the m—"

But here, to Prim's great surprise, Johanna's voice died away, even in the middle of her favourite word 'moral', and the hand that rested on her shoulder began to tremble. Prim looked up, and there stood the Queen in front of them with her arms folded, frowning like a thunderstorm.

"A fine day, your Majesty," Duchess Johanna began in a low, weak voice.

"Now, I give you fair warning," shouted the Queen, stamping on the ground as she spoke; "either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time! Take your choice!"

Duchess Johanna took her choice and was gone in a moment.

"Let's go on with the game," the Queen said to Prim, who was too much frightened to say a word, so she slowly followed Coin back to the croquet-ground.

The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen's absence, and were resting in the shade; however, the moment they saw her, they hurried back to the game; the Queen merely remarking that a moment's delay would cost them their lives.

All the time they were playing, the Queen never left off quarrelling with the other players and shouting "Off with his head!" or "Off with her head!". Those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the soldiers, who of course had to leave off being arches to do this. So that by the end of half an hour or so, there were no arches left, and all the players, except Plutarch, the Queen, and Prim were in custody and under sentence of execution.

Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Prim, "Have you seen my Merman yet?"

"No," replied Prim. "I didn't even know that Mermen existed."

"Of course they do. We wouldn't have baby mermen and mermaids if they didn't," said the Queen.

"I never saw one, or heard of one actually existing," said Prim.

"Come on, then," said the Queen, "and he shall tell you his history."

As they walked off together, Prim heard Plutarch say in a low voice to the company generally, "You are all pardoned."

"Come, that's a good thing," Prim said to herself, for she had felt quite unhappy at the number of executions that Coin had ordered.

They very soon came upon a Gryphon lying fast asleep in the sun.

"Up, lazy thing!' said the Queen, "and take this young lady to see the Merman, and to hear his history. I must go back and see after some executions I have ordered." And she walked off, leaving Prim alone with the Gryphon.

Prim did not quite like the look of the half lion, half eagle creature, but on the whole, she thought it would be quite as safe to stay with it as to go after that savage Queen, so she waited.

The Gryphon sat up, stretched its wings, and rubbed its eyes with its paw; then it watched the Queen till she was out of sight. Then it chuckled. "What fun," said the Gryphon happily, half to itself, half to Prim.

"What is the fun?" asked Prim.

"Why, Coin," said the Gryphon. "It's all her fancy, that; thinking she's some kind of monarch. They never executes nobody, you know. Come on."

Everybody says 'come on' here, thought Prim as she went slowly after it. I never was so ordered about in all my life, never.

They had not gone far before they saw the Merman in the distance, lying in the sand at the edge of a cove, appearing sad and lonely. His tail glistened green and blue in the sunlight.

As they came nearer, Prim could hear him sighing as if his heart would break. She pitied him deeply. "What is his sorrow?" she asked the Gryphon.

The Gryphon answered very nearly in the same words as before, "It's all his fancy, that; he hasn't got no sorrow, you know. He gets moody when he runs out of sugar. Now, come on."

So they went up to the Merman, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing until Prim gasped, "Finnick! You never told me that you were a Merman."

"Well, you never asked," replied Finnick. "I cannot tell you what you want to know if you don't ask."

Prim stared at the Merman, observing how the gentle waves lapped at his tail. "One would think someone would have noticed your tail before now."

"Ah. Well, I need saltwater in order to change back into my natural self." Merman Finnick stared out past the cove and sighed. "The Atlantic Ocean will have to do until I get home."

"This here young lady," said the Gryphon, "she wants for to know your history, she do."

"I'll tell it her," said the Merman in a deep, hollow tone. "Sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished."

So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Prim thought to herself, I don't see how he can 'even' finish, if he doesn't begin. But she waited patiently.

"Once," said the Merman at last, with a deep sigh, "I was a wee merman."

These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of 'Hjckrrh!' from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Merman. Prim was very nearly getting up and saying, "Thank you, Finnick, for your interesting story," but she could not help thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.

"When we were little, in District Four," the Merman went on at last, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, "we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Fisherman; we used to call him Tortoise—"

"Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?" Prim asked.

"We called him Tortoise because he taught us," said Merman Finnick angrily. "Really you are very dull."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question," added the Gryphon, and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Prim, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the Gryphon said to the Merman, "Drive on, old fellow. Don't be all day about it."

And the Merman went on in these words, "Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't believe it—"

"I never said I didn't," interrupted Prim.

"You did," said the Merman.

"Hold your tongue!" added the Gryphon, before Prim could speak again.

The Merman went on, "We had the best of educations, in fact, we went to school every day—"

"I've been to a day-school, too," said Prim. "You needn't be so proud as all that."

"With extras?" asked the Merman a little anxiously.

"Yes," replied Prim, "We learned about coal and music."

"And washing?" asked the Merman.

"Certainly not," said Prim indignantly.

"Ah! Then yours wasn't a really good school," said Merman Finnick in a tone of great relief. "Now at ours they had at the end of the bill, 'Fishing, music, and washing—extra.'"

"You couldn't have wanted it much," said Prim, "living at the bottom of the sea."

"I couldn't afford to learn it," said the Merman with a sigh. "I only took the regular course."

"What was that?" inquired Prim.

"Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with," the Merman replied; "and then the different branches of Arithmetic: Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision."

"I never heard of 'Uglification'," Prim ventured to say. "What is it?"

The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. "What? Never heard of uglifying," it exclaimed. "You know what to beautify is, I suppose?"

"Yes," said Prim doubtfully. "It means, to make anything prettier."

"Well, then," the Gryphon went on, "if you don't know what to uglify is, you are a simpleton."

Prim did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so she turned to the Merman, and asked, "Finnick, what else had you to learn?"

"Well, there was Mystery," the Merman replied, counting off the subjects on his fingers, "Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography; then Drawling, the Drawling-master was an old conger-eel that used to come once a week. He taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils."

"What was that like?" asked Prim.

"Well, I can't show it you myself," the Merman said. "I'm too stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it."

"Hadn't time," said the Gryphon. "I went to the Classics master, though. He was an old crab, he was."

"I never went to him," the Merman said with a sigh; "he taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say."

"So he did, so he did," said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures bowed their heads.

"And how many hours a day did you do lessons?" asked Prim in a hurry to change the subject.

"Ten hours the first day," said the Merman, "nine the next, and so on."

"What a curious plan,"' exclaimed Prim. "School is so much different in District Four."

"That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon remarked, "because they lessen from day to day."

This was quite a new idea to Prim, and she thought it over a little before she made her next remark. "Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?"

"Of course it was," said the Merman.

"And how did you manage on the twelfth?" Prim went on eagerly.

"That's enough about lessons," the Gryphon interrupted in a very decided tone. "Tell her something about the Games now."