Part 3

"Why, are you a princess?" asked Mary Louise in surprise, turning quickly to the mermaid and forgetting for the moment that they were on the steps of a real merman's castle.

The little mermaid only laughed in reply, and taking Mary Louise by the hand led her through the coral doors to King Seaphus.

His Majesty was seated on a throne of pearl, studded with many precious stones. A long emerald robe fell from his shoulders and on his head rested a magnificent crown set with glittering jewels, which gleamed and sparkled in the dim light of the royal chamber.

"Ah, my daughter, whom have you here?" he asked, leaning from the throne and gazing intently at little Mary Louise. "Methinks she is a mermaidized mortal!" At which the King laughed loudly, for he was very fond of coining words and was busily engaged, when his state duties did not interfere, in compiling a new dictionary.

"You are right, Father Seaphus," replied his beautiful daughter. "Let me introduce little Mary Louise."

The King rose graciously and extended his royal right hand. Mary Louise made a low curtsey, finding it much easier now that she was a mermaid to perform this little act of graciousness on account of the flexibility of her tail.

Legs, of course, are indispensable for walking; but, then, in these days of new inventions, when the air is invaded by wing, and the earth traversed by wheels, and the depths of the waters by mechanical fins, walking may soon become a lost art! Something like this may have flitted through her mind, but she only answered in a trembling voice, "How do you do, Your Majesty!"

"You are welcome, 'Mermaid Mary,' to our Kingdom of the Sea," he replied. "I hope you will enjoy your stay with us." So saying, he gallantly lifted his gold crown as little Mary Louise made another curtsey.

"Let us dress for dinner," said the mermaid.

They swam quickly upstairs between two balustrades of lovely coral to her bedroom.

It was just like fairy-land; at least, it seemed so to little Mary Louise, as she looked about the pretty room. In one corner stood a beautiful bed of mother-of-pearl, hung with varied colored sea grass for curtains. Sea moss made it as soft as down. In fact, it seemed almost softer to Mary Louise, who by this time was very sleepy. She rested her tired little body upon the cushions and in a few short seconds was sound asleep. The princess mermaid looked at her with loving eyes, while she sang very low and sweetly:

"Sleep, little sister, for when you awake, We'll have a fine dinner of fishes and cake!"

I think the mermaid took somewhat after her royal father for she often spoke in rhyme, which she composed as she talked, while his great delight, as has been mentioned before, was to coin a new word for his dictionary.

Leaving Mary Louise to her slumbers, the princess mermaid sat herself down before her mirror and combed her hair. Presently, she went over to her wardrobe and took out a beautiful shimmery pink shawl. What it was made of I cannot tell, except that it shivered and quivered with little colors like a rainbow. Perhaps it was made of changeable sea-silk.

At any rate, Mary Louise, who at that moment opened her eyes, thought it was the most exquisite thing she had ever seen.

"Is it really for me? Is it really?" she asked with a cry of delight, as the mermaid came toward her.

"Of course it is, my dear," replied the mermaid princess, "and as soon as you have put it on, and combed your hair--you needn't wash your hands and face, you know--the banquet will be ready."

Mary Louise clapped her hands and hopped, or, rather, flopped about, so happy was she to receive such a gift in the depths of the sea.

When she was dressed in the lovely shawl, and a beautiful mother-of-pearl comb fastened in her hair, the princess mermaid declared she looked "too sweet for anything!" Then they floated down, arm in arm, to the great dining hall.

King Seaphus

The great dining hall of King Seaphus was considered by all the inhabitants of Merland--that is, all those who had been lucky enough to have seen its splendor--to be the most magnificent of its kind anywhere.

The dining table, or banquet board, as it was called, was made of mother-of-pearl. The pale, shimmery cloth was woven from the most delicate of sea-grasses. The gold and silver plates shone with a strange luster, and the goblets, fashioned of the thinnest and most exquisite pearl, gave the impression that they were strange sea lilies.

King Seaphus seated himself majestically at the head of the banquet board, and little Mary Louise was shown the place on his right. At the other end sat the Mermaid Princess. Mermen in dark green liveries served the meal. But what delighted and interested Mary Louise the most was the way in which the food was served. Instead of ordinary, everyday dishes, it appeared in little airtight boats, which the servants guided dexterously to the table, and when opened, the steam escaped in hundreds of little bubbles that took on all the hues of the rainbow. These slowly ascended through the pale green water until they reached the surface, where they probably floated off in the air, until they burst, like fairy soap-bubbles.

All kinds of delicious fish, little pink and white crabs, goldfish, luscious oysters, and, finally, coral-candy, made up the different courses of the dinner. When it was over and the coffee was served in a beautiful room adjoining, King Seaphus smoked a big cigar, which, to Mary Louise's amazement, glowed and burned like any ordinary Havana her father smoked at home.

After King Seaphus had smoked away in perfect silence for some time, he turned to Mary Louise and asked:

"Where were you going, my dear, when you met my daughter?"

"Oh, nowhere in particular," replied little Mary Louise quickly. "You see, I was playing on the beach when I saw the Princess, and--and--and---"

"Then I combed her hair with my magic comb," said the Princess, coming to the relief of little Mary Louise, who was very much embarrassed by the question. You see, she was not at all accustomed to hold conversation with royalty, and to be talking to a Merman King was, perhaps, even more disconcerting.