“Haven’t you any umbrellas?” asked Button-Bright.

“No, we don’t know what umbrellas are,” replied the Pinky man.

It did not rain at once, and they reached Tourmaline’s wretched hut in safety.  There they found quite a number of Pinkies assembled, and a spirited discussion was taking place when they arrived.

“Come in, please,” said Tourmaline, opening the door for them, and when they had entered, she placed a pinkwood bench for them to sit upon and went back to her throne, which was a common rocking chair.  At her right were seated six men and women of the Sunrise Tribe, and on her left six men and women of the Sunset Tribe, among the latter being Coralie.  The contrast between the plain, simple dress of the Queen and the gorgeous apparel of her Counselors was quite remarkable, yet her beauty far surpassed that of any of her people, and her demeanor was so modest and unassuming that it was difficult for the prisoners to believe that her word would decree life or death and that all the others were subservient to her.  Tourmaline’s eyes were so deep a shade of pink that they were almost hazel, and her hair was darker than that of the others, being a golden-red in color.  These points, taken with her light-pink skin and slender form, rendered her distinctive among the Pinkies, whatever gown she might wear.

When the strangers were seated, she turned to them and said, “I have searched through the Great Book of Laws and found nothing about foreign people entering our land.  There is a law that if any of the Blueskins break through the Fog Bank, they shall be driven back with sharp sticks; but you are not Blueskins, so this Law does not apply to you.  Therefore, in order to decide your fate, I have summoned a Council of twelve of my people, who will vote as to whether you shall be permitted to remain here or not.  They wanted to see you before they cast their final vote, that they may examine you carefully and discover if you are worthy to become inhabitants of the Pink Country.”

“The rose is red, the violet’s blue,
But Trot is sweeter than the two!”

declared the parrot in a loud voice.  It was a little verse Cap’n Bill had taught the bird that very morning while Trot was seeing the sun rise.

The Pinkies were startled and seemed a little frightened at hearing a bird speak so clearly.  Trot laughed and patted the bird’s head in return for the compliment.  “Is the Monster Man whose legs are part wood a dangerous creature?” asked one of the Sunrise Tribe.

“Not to my friends,” replied Cap’n Bill, much amused.  “I s’pose I could fight your whole crowd of Pinkies if I had to, an’ make you run for your lives, but bein’ as you’re friendly to us, you ain’t in any danger.”  The sailor thought this speech was diplomatic and might “head off any trouble,” but the Pinkies seemed uneasy, and several of them picked up their slender, pointed sticks and held them in their hands.  They were not cowardly, but it was evident they mistrusted the big man, who on Earth was not considered big at all, but rather undersized.