The happy fresh voices of the children were still singing with a rare outburst of melody--

"Pleasant-Faced Lion, our thanks to thee, For all your hospitality."

"Amen!" said the Lion. "Come, Ridgwell and Christine, jump on!"

commanded the Lion, as he sank down in order to enable the two children to get on his back. "Home now!"

Both the children looked back many times, of course. They saw the golden bungalow palace for the last time in all its changing lights.

Noticed that Queen Boadicea stood majestically upon the topmost step with King Richard upon one side of her and King Charles upon the other.

St. George stood with his armour flashing a few steps below. The four merry dogs were gathered around him, whilst Carry-on-Merry was resting his laughing head in one of St. George's hands.

The coloured lights grew paler, a mist danced before their eyes, then twinkled and disappeared.

"It is gone," said Ridgwell, "and oh! how dark the streets look now!"

"But _what_ a party," said Christine.

"And what a feast," added Ridgwell.

"Yes," replied the Lion philosophically, "it is really remarkable how times have changed. In the olden days, long, long ago, everything was reversed. For instance, it was the Lions who were then provided with the feast, and the children who were eaten."

"Horrid!" shivered Ridgwell. "You mean, Lal, those wicked Roman Emperors who let the poor Christians be eaten?"

"My child," announced the Lion gravely, "free meals have invariably been productive of much unpleasant discussion and inquiries afterwards.

But see now," he added coaxingly, "the perfect state of perfection the world has arrived at. The Pleasant Lions give the banquet themselves now. Every single thing to-night was provided by Lions. I gave the party--I, the Pleasant-Faced Lion. The four laughing lions from Westminster helped. Richard Coeur-de-Lion presided, and Messrs. Lyons provided all the refreshments."

"Any rate, Lal," observed Ridgwell, "although Christine and I both love you, of course--lions must have been very cruel and savage once, otherwise they wouldn't have _thought_ of eating anybody, would they?"

"Ah, my little boy," replied the Pleasant-Faced Lion softly, "if you were kept without food for days and days I wonder what you would do."

"Tuck in like mad the first chance I got," announced Ridgwell with conviction.

"Perhaps the lions did the same thing," observed Lal gently. "However, I feel I cannot offer any excuse for their past conduct; yet,"

continued the Pleasant-Faced Lion wisely, as he jogged contentedly on, homewards towards Balham, "I have a fair proposition to make to you, although it may seem somewhat in the nature of a riddle to you both at the present moment."

"What is it?" asked the children in a breath.

"Suppose," said the Lion--"I only say suppose--both of you ever had a chance of eating me, of--ahem! in short, devouring your old friend Lal, would you do it?" asked the Lion, with an odd tremble in his voice.

The question seemed to be so odd, not to mention out of place, that both the children laughed.

"Why, Lal," chuckled Ridgwell, "how ridiculous you are. How could Christine or myself ever possibly eat even a little bit of you?"

"No," answered the Lion, "I believe you are both little Christian children, and yet," he added with a sigh, "you might both become Pagans."

"What's a Pagan?" asked Ridgwell.

Again the Lion sighed. "My child," he said, "you have a very great deal to learn, and among the many things at present hidden from you is the fact that both you and Christine will see me once again and once only."

"Where?" asked the children.

"At your home in Balham."

"Good gracious," said Ridgwell, "will you knock at the hall door?"

"No," said the Pleasant-Faced Lion.

"Or appear sitting in the raspberry bushes in the garden?" ventured Christine. "If so, you will spoil them, you know!"

"No," said the Lion, "certainly not."

"Then how will you come?" asked Ridgwell.

"You will see me again once more," a.s.serted the Lion, "in three days from now, and moreover inside your own home."

"Three days from now is Ridge's birthday," ventured Christine; "of course, it would be very nice to see you, but I do wonder how you will come, and I do wonder how we shall be able to explain you away."

The Pleasant-Faced Lion laughed his gruffest laugh.

"I don't think you could very well _explain_ me away, little Christine."

"Suppose you sat on the hearth-rug and people seemed a little distant or awkward?" commenced Ridgwell.

"Yes," broke in Christine, "or some of those dreadful long pauses occurred when n.o.body speaks and every one looks at every one else and feels uncomfortable--would you _say_ something?"

"Yes," said the Lion. "I have plenty of tact, but really there won't be any need," and the Pleasant-Faced Lion again chuckled softly to himself.

"There is only one thing I want you to do," said the Pleasant-Faced Lion, and he still seemed to be choked with merriment as if a sudden idea had occurred to him.

"What is it, Lal?" inquired both the children.

"Upon Ridgwell's birthday night, before you both go to bed, I want you, Ridgwell, to remember a little rhyme and say it to yourself."

"A hymn?" asked Ridgwell.

"Not exactly a hymn."

"After we have said our prayers?"

"Certainly," replied the Lion obligingly, "any time before you go to bed will do; will you promise to remember?"

"Of course, Lal."

"Well, this is the little rhyme," whispered the Lion mysteriously; and somehow it seemed to Ridgwell as if the Lion was still laughing at him as he repeated the following extraordinary rhyme--

"Christian child or Pagan child, Which is my denomination, Have I eaten dear old Lal In my birthday celebration?"

Ridgwell repeated the mysterious rhyme after the Lion, then he shook his head.