Ellen's Lion (5 page)

“It doesn't look so high because the top is in the clouds,” she said. “But be very careful.”

With the lion behind her Ellen reached the cushioned seat of the mountain and without pausing she began the next part of the climb. Kneeling on top of a broad padded arm she looked over her shoulder at the lion.

“Are you out of breath?” she called. “We can rest here awhile.”

She swung around on the top of the arm and, as she sat down, she noticed that the lion suddenly had disappeared. Looking over her shoulder again, she saw him, dangling on the rope over the outside of the arm.

“You slipped off the edge of the cliff,” she said, pulling him up by the rope and sitting him beside her. “You'd better go first the rest of the way.”

The lion went first and, with Ellen close behind him to give him a hand when he needed it, he accomplished the long difficult climb. There he was, balanced precariously, on the summit of the highest mountain in the world.

“Good work,” Ellen said, drawing herself up on her knees beside the lion and giving him a pat on the head.

Over he went again, off the back of the mountain. This time the rope pulled loose and he landed with a bounce on the playroom floor.

“I told you to be careful,” Ellen shouted, looking down at him from the top of the mountain. “Are you very dead?”

“No,” said the lion.

“Good. Then you're famous,” said Ellen, and she climbed down the mountain and took the lion by the paw. “Let's go and see the mayor and get your medal.”

After the mayor presented him with a gold medal for being the first lion to climb the highest mountain in the world, the lion sat on the table at a banquet where a glass of milk and pieces of a cupcake were served and a thunderous ovation rang out. The handclapping and cheering went on even after the lion fell off the table and lay on the floor again and it continued until everyone forgot who the applause was for or what it was he was famous for having done.

E
llen came in with a brand-new squirrel, holding him high over her head.

“I just got him for my birthday,” she said. “Isn't he adorable?”

“Is he?” the lion said.

Ellen cuddled the squirrel to her.

“Hasn't he got the most appealing expression?”

“Has he?” said the lion.

“And wait till you hear this,” said Ellen, inserting a key in the squirrel's side and twisting it around and around. “Listen.”

The squirrel began a song but not at its proper beginning, and it came out of him in a tinkling voice that carried only the tune, not the words.

“—one-horse open sleigh-ay, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way … oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh-ay, jingle bells—”

“Isn't he wonderful?” Ellen said.

“He has a music box inside of him,” the lion said.

“I know,” said Ellen, holding the squirrel against her cheek, listening to him, and stroking his fur. “That's what's so wonderful.”

“Machinery,” said the lion. “Just something to get out of order.”

“You're jealous,” Ellen said. “You haven't got a music box in your stomach.”

“Neither have you,” said the lion. “I don't think it is a matter to give either of us any great cause for envy.”

“I swallowed a whistle once,” said Ellen.

“I remember,” the lion said. “And it was quite a calamity. The doctor came. Your mother and father and I were up all night.”

“Were you here then?” Ellen said. “It was long ago. I was little.”

“I was here long before that,” said the lion. “Even before you had the measles. Remember? I stayed in bed with you the whole time.”

“—sleigh-ay, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the—”

The squirrel stopped tinkling. Ellen reached for the key and wound him up again while she stared at the lion.

“You might have caught the measles,” she said.

“Your mother disinfected me,” the lion said. “It took three days on the clothesline in the sun for me to dry. My fur faded.”

“—way … oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh-ay, jingle bells—”

Ellen carried the squirrel, tinkling merrily again, to a corner of the room and set him on the floor.

“The lion and I are talking about things from long ago,” she explained, leaving him and returning to the lion. “When you were disinfected it must have been as bad as the time we had to put you in the washing machine after you fell in the mixing bowl.”

“It was much the same sort of experience,” said the lion.

“I remember when we pulled you out of the brownie batter,” said Ellen, suddenly laughing. “It was very funny.”

“It's funny now,” said the lion. “Looking back on it.”

In the corner of the room the squirrel tinkled on.

“Remember when Sarge Thompson kidnapped you and took you to his kennel?” Ellen said.

“You cried,” said the lion.

“But I rescued you,” said Ellen.

“I was proud of you,” said the lion.

“—bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way … oh what—”

The squirrel tinkled to a stop. Nobody noticed. Nobody wound him up again. Ellen and the lion were busy talking over old times.