A Blink of the Screen

anyway.’
    ‘What is the present I’m to give the princess, then?’ asked Prince Alfred.
    ‘Patience, patience,’ said the partridge. ‘I want to have a meeting with some of your subjects first. Kindly call for the Royal Swankeeper, the Guardian of the Crown Jewels, the Master of the Royal Music, the highest Lord in the land, the Chief Lady-in-Waiting, and about four farmers. I’ll need them all to make the present.
    ‘Then I want you to go and visit the princess, and her father, and bring them to my pear tree in the mountains.’
    This the prince did, though he wondered what the partridge had in store.
    He went to the Land of the Moon, and brought the king and the princess and a host of their knights to the tree.
    ‘What sort of present is this?’ said the king. ‘The pears are good to eat, maybe, but nothing else. They don’t sing.’
    ‘Wait a moment,’ said the prince, gazing anxiously down the road.
    ‘I’m not waiting here all day,’ said the king angrily. ‘Show me the present you’ve got for my daughter or be off.’
    ‘Wait a minute, Father,’ said Princess Selena. ‘There’s something coming.’
    Prince Alfred looked down the road at the approaching cloud of dust and then let out a whoop of joy.
    A very odd crowd could now be seen.
    In the lead was a small boy called Bert, the son of the Royal Swankeeper, carrying three enormous cages. One contained two sulky turtle-doves, the next three French hens, and the biggest, which kept bumping against his knees, held four little green birds.
    On Bert’s head sat the partridge, holding on tightly to his hair, and shouting instructions to the others. His voice was rather muffled since he was also trying to hold five large gold rings in his beak.
    After Bert came the Royal Swankeeper himself, herding seven hissing swans and six waddling geese, who kept getting under the feet of the eight milkmaids who were puffing along behind.
    After them came a big drum, bowling along with its drummer galloping after it, and the other eight drummers hotly in pursuit, closely followed by ten pipers who played as they ran.
    Eleven lords came leaping after them, robes flying, and bringing up the rear was a carriage holding twelve ladies-in-waiting.
    ‘Now you all know what to do,’ said the partridge, when they had reached the old pear tree. And pears rained down as everyone scrambled up into the branches, treading on fingers and cracking branches.
    ‘Quick, quick!’ said the partridge. ‘Are we all ready? Now tell the princess what her present is.’
    ‘Twelve ladies dancing,’ said the ladies on the lowest branch.
    ‘Eleven lords a-leaping,’ sang the lords, rocketing up and down through the tree. Creak! Rattle!
    ‘Ten pipers piping – one, two, one two three four,’ sang the pipers, and went into a spirited rendering of the tune.
    ‘Nine drummers drumming.’ Thud! Boom!
    ‘Eight maids a-milking.’
    ‘Hiss! Hiss!’ went the seven swans, who couldn’t a-swim on their branch and were angry about it.
    ‘Honk! Honk!’ went the six geese a-laying.
    ‘Ring! Ting!’ sang the five gold rings in the wind.
    ‘Call! Chirrup,’ sang the four calling birds.
    ‘Le Cackle!’ cackled the three French hens.
    ‘Coo! Coo!’ sang the two turtle doves.
    There was a breathless pause, and everyone stared up at the partridge. He made sure they were all watching, then ruffled his feathers, stretched out his wings, and with a voice like sandpaper sang:
    ‘And a Partridge In A Pearrrrrrrr,’ his neck stretched and his face went red as he took a deep breath, ‘Treeeeeeee!’
    The silence that followed was broken by the laughter of the king, who sat on his horse with tears running down his face.
    ‘It’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in years,’ he said. ‘And it does everything it should do! Marry my daughter by all means!’
    ‘I think it’s a lovely present,’ said the princess.
    ‘Cough, cough,’ said the partridge tactfully, from his position on the topmost branch. ‘My reward is that I want to sing a song I’ve invented all about this at your wedding.’
    ‘Yes,’ said the prince. ‘You must all come.’
    So – on the Twelfth Day of Christmas, as it happened – they held a great wedding party in a large tent erected over the old pear tree in the mountains, and the partridge sang his song and was made Prime Minister on the spot by the prince.
    Several of the smaller pipers ate too much, and had to be sent home in wheelbarrows, but the