<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
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<hr class="chap" />
<h1>SOLARIO THE TAILOR</h1>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_half_title.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">Mortimer the Executioner</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_0" id="Page_0"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">“Then I will begin,” said Solario, the Tailor, “the story of——”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="titlepage">
<p class="ph1">SOLARIO THE TAILOR</p>
<p><span class="xlarge"><i>HIS TALES OF THE MAGIC DOUBLET</i></span></p>
<p>BY<br/>
<span class="xlarge">WILLIAM BOWEN</span></p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_titlelogo.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p><span class="antiqua">New York</span><br/>
<span class="xlarge">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/>
1922<br/>
<br/>
<i>All rights reserved</i></p>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_title_verso.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1922,<br/>
By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.<br/>
<br/>
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1922.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_v.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xlarge">THE FIRST NIGHT</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">STORY OF THE OLD MAN IN THE SPANGLED COAT</td></tr>
<tr><td> </td><td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdhi"><i>The doublet with the missing button—The dark mansion in the walled
park—The tailor meets the tall black man and his fair daughter—The
Black Prince tells his story—Eight tailors who could not
sew on a single button—The tailor is visited by a hideous old
woman—The jolly mule driver and his sing-song—Adventures
in search of Alb the Unicorn—Solario encounters Alb the Unicorn—The
button is sewed on with the unicorn’s hair—The
Prince receives the tailor’s terms—The magic doublet is suddenly
produced</i></td><td class="tdr" valign="bottom"><SPAN href="#Page_1">1</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xlarge">THE SECOND NIGHT</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">ALB THE UNICORN</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdhi"><i>Alb the Fortunate and the Princess Hyla—A tattered old beggar comes
to the goldsmith’s shop—The old man proposes a strange bargain—The
three black hairs in the yellow head—Alb wins the promise
of the Princess’s hand—A trifling incident disturbs Alb’s mother—Unreasonable
conduct of the goldsmith’s widow—The merrymakers
are suddenly sobered by the goldsmith’s son—The Princess
behaves in an amusing fashion—The Princess finds her
husband bewitched—Alb and the Princess visit the One-Armed
Sorcerer—The Old Man of Ice, The Laughing Nymph, and
the Great Horned Owl—The burning glass, the brass pin, and the
loop of thread—He hears thunder in a clear sky—He goes
down into the cave in Thunder Mountain—He pursues the
Man of Ice with the burning glass—He commences to make his</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</SPAN></span>
<i>escape from the cave—He sails across the Great Sea—He finds a
child in a pool of the rock—The Laughing Nymph in the Three-Spire
Rock—He remembers the brass pin in time—The second
black hair is gone—The Great Horned Owl stands ready for the
loop of thread—The wrong hand and a desperate fall—Alb sees
in the river the reflection of a unicorn</i></td><td class="tdr" valign="bottom"><SPAN href="#Page_31">31</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xlarge">THE THIRD NIGHT</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">THE SON OF THE TAILOR OF OOGH</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdhi"><i>The Prince receives the magic doublet—The Prince and his daughter
set forth for Oogh—A strange encounter at the wayside well—The
three blind ballad singers—The blind ballad singer displays
the Shears of Sharpness—The strange conduct of the people of
Oogh—The mansion in the ruined park—The solitary figure behind
the spider’s web—The Prince watches the people’s behavior
toward the boy—The man with the ball in the underground alley—The
Prince sets out for his encounter with Babadag the Tailor—Babadag
the Tailor, Goolk the Spider, and the eight tailors—The
three blind ballad singers once more—The magic doublet
protects the Prince against the Knitters of Eyebrows and against
Goolk the Spider—The Prince’s daughter has beguiled the Shears
of Sharpness from the ballad singers—A light flickers in the dark
shop—The Prince’s daughter is gone, and the Prince makes a dash
for liberty—Babadag the Tailor is conquered by his little son—The
governor, being released, beholds the Prince’s daughter—The
shearing of the Eyebrow—The skin of the Prince is black—The
doom of the city of Oogh—The tailor’s son follows him into the
burning city—The boy is found on the sill of his ruined home,
alive—The eight tailors stand before them in a row—They meet
the three blind ballad singers for the last time</i></td><td class="tdr" valign="bottom"> <SPAN href="#Page_73">73</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xlarge">THE FOURTH NIGHT</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">THE RAGPICKER AND THE PRINCESS</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdhi"><i>The Princess hears a voice from the waves beneath her window—The
Princess sees the shadow of an old woman—A midnight visit from
a one-armed old man—Alb, seeking the Princess, sits down by the
seashore—An interview with a talking seal—A sea journey on the
back of a seal—The village of storks—The feeding of the storks—The</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</SPAN></span>
<i>Ragpicker frightens the men away with her bag—He follows
the Ragpicker down into the dark—She stirs a steaming mixture
with her long, hooked forefinger—The shadows of the children—He
loses his way in the dark—He hears the voice of the seal
again—He peeps into the sorcerer’s workshop—He lies in wait
with a bow and arrow—The Ragpicker releases the shadows in
the street—A singular commotion on the housetops—The Princess
is herself again, but—The King beholds his child and is grieved—The
seal introduces his liniment, guaranteed to cure in all cases</i></td><td class="tdr" valign="bottom"><SPAN href="#Page_126">126</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xlarge">THE FIFTH NIGHT</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">THE CITY OF DEAD LEAVES</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdhi"><i>The misfortunes of Tush the Apothecary—They find themselves on an
unknown shore—The startling effect of making a ring of grass—They
start upon a journey through the air—The orange tree
and the panther—They come upon the King’s brother in rags—A
dwarf clad in motley stands up to speak—Buffo the Fool leads
them to the palace—They find the King in a terrible state—The
Perfection Cream is rubbed into the itching palm—Tush the
Apothecary takes the people in hand—Paravaine has made her
choice—He finds himself rubbing his palms together—He cannot
find the ingredients for making the salve—Tush and his sister
are seized by the angry crowd—The genie in the whirlwind—The
pulling off of the genie’s ring</i></td><td class="tdr" valign="bottom"><SPAN href="#Page_169">169</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xlarge">THE SIXTH NIGHT</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">THE ENCHANTED HIGHWAYMAN</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdhi"><i>A voice from nowhere bids the Prince stop—The Prince listens to a
curious discourse—The Prince, alone in the forest, hears the bark
of a dog—The prisoner inside the wasp’s nest—The dog leaps
upon him to devour him—The Prince, sitting on the ground, looks
up at a genie—The One-Armed Sorcerer appears from within the
wasp’s nest—The Highwayman and nine of his daughters appear
in proper person—He sees the Highwayman’s tenth daughter—The
genie breathes fire upon the witch’s hut—The One-Armed
Sorcerer performs upon a button—The genie flies away with the
witch—The Prince leads his beloved home—The magic doublet is
presented at the wedding</i></td><td class="tdr" valign="bottom"><SPAN href="#Page_206">206</SPAN></td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_ix.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
<tr><td class="tdr">1.</td><td> “Then I will begin,” said Solario the Tailor, “the
story of——”</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_0"> <i>Frontispiece</i></SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td><td> </td><td class="tdr"><small>FACING PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">2.</td><td> Solario was sitting on his worktable busily plying the needle</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_4">4</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">3.</td><td> The Unicorn stamped and gave a piercing neigh</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_20">20</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">4.</td><td> “There is something here,” said the old beggar, “which I wish to buy”</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_36">36</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">5.</td><td> Mortimer the Executioner was being measured by Solario for a suit</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_74">74</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">6.</td><td> “You are welcome, master peddler,” said Babadag</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_98">98</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">7.</td><td> “Beauty in tatters!” said Babadag the Tailor</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_110">110</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">8.</td><td> The shadow of a Ragpicker oozed in through the door</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_134">134</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">9.</td><td> The one-armed sorcerer plucked a feather from the stork</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_156">156</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">10.</td><td> The genie flew away with Tush and his sister</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_178">178</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">11.</td><td> The genie swung him back and forth and tossed him out to sea</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_204">204</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">12.</td><td> “I held my trusty blade on high and took from him his money”</td><td class="right"><SPAN href="#Page_212">212</SPAN></td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_xi.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">TO BE READ FIRST</h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap">IN the book called “The Enchanted Forest” it is related— But
I hope that you have read that book, or
at least that you sincerely intend to do so as soon as
you have time, but no matter; it is all about a Forest Kingdom,
and a Great Forest that was enchanted by a witch, an
irritable sort of person who— Not that she was to be
blamed altogether, in my judgment, for she had been provoked
to it by a page boy belonging to the King of the
Forest, and I am personally not surprised that this young<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</SPAN></span>
rogue was in consequence spirited away in the middle of the
night, no one knew whither.</p>
<p>Another boy (quite a different sort) named Bilbo, son
of one Bodad a woodchopper, managed to disenchant the
forest and destroy the witch, and for this he was given, when
he was old enough, the hand of the King’s daughter, the
Princess Dorobel; and in course of time there came to them
a little son, by name Bojohn.</p>
<p>This Bojohn, with his friend Bodkin, a fisherman’s boy,
afterward discovered the lost page boy in a chamber
beneath a forest pool, where the witch had placed him for
his punishment; and in this chamber, with the page boy,
was a company of enchanted men, also placed there by the
witch, at various times, each for some offense against her,
and each sitting there upright in a kind of cupboard in
the wall, unable to speak or move. These men, and the
page boy too, Prince Bojohn and his friend Bodkin set free,
by means of a magical silver lamp.</p>
<p>In the audience room of the King’s dwelling, a noble
castle in the midst of the forest, the entire court assembled
to welcome the rescued men on the night of their arrival;
and the King, after making a speech (which no power on
earth could have prevented his doing), created the rescued
men, without bothering to ask whether they wanted it or
no, an order of knighthood, to be known as the Order of
the Silver Lamp. This done, he addressed the new knights,—but
here I may as well turn back to the book itself,
which thus relates what then occurred:</p>
<p>“We are all anxious,” said the King, “to hear your<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</SPAN></span>
stories; they are, I am sure, of the greatest interest. You,
sir,” he said, addressing the oldest of the Knights of the
Silver Lamp, who wore a faded spangled coat, of a period
no one present could remember, “I beseech you to recount
to us the story of your life, and in particular the adventure
which brought you to so strange a pass.”</p>
<p>“Willingly, sire,” said the ancient man, so readily that
it was apparent he had been waiting for this opportunity;
and thereupon, with a considerable rustling and a good
deal of whispering and nodding of heads, the assemblage
composed itself to hear the story of the Old Man in the
Spangled Coat.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_xv.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">Bojohn and Bodkin</p>
</div>
<h2 class="nobreak"><i>The Teller of Tales</i><br/> SOLARIO THE TAILOR</h2>
<hr class="tiny" />
<p class="center"><i>His Audience</i></p>
<div class="hangingindent">
<blockquote>
<p><span class="smcap">Prince Bojohn</span>, <i>a boy, the King’s grandson</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Bodkin</span>, <i>a fisherman’s boy, his friend</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Princess Dorobel</span>, <i>Bojohn’s mother</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Prince Bilbo</span>, <i>her husband, Bojohn’s father</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">The King</span> and <span class="smcap">Queen</span> <i>of the Great Forest, Bojohn’s grandfather and
grandmother, and the Princess Dorobel’s parents</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mortimer</span> the <span class="smcap">Executioner</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Encourager</span> of the <span class="smcap">Interrupter</span></p>
</blockquote></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE FIRST NIGHT<br/> <small>STORY OF THE OLD MAN IN THE SPANGLED COAT</small></h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap">YOU must know (began the old man) that I am a
tailor, by name Solario. In the reign of the good
King Fortmain the Ninth—</p>
<p><i>“Ah!” interrupted the King. “That was my great-grandfather.
Bless my soul, master tailor, you must have
been imprisoned under the forest pool nearly a hundred
years ago. Hum! I dare say you know what you’re
talking about, but—”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</SPAN></span></p>
<p><i>“My dear,” said the Queen, “I’m quite sure that the
ninth Fortmain was your great-great-grandfather, and not
your great-grandfather, though of course I may be mistaken;
but it seems to me that it was the tenth Fortmain
who was your great-grandfather, because the ninth had an
oldest son who married into the Stiffish family, if I recollect
the name correctly, or perhaps it was Standish, and at any
rate he died without any children while his father was alive,
and the younger son came into the—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Never mind, never mind,” said the King. “You mustn’t
interrupt. Let the man go on with his story.”</i></p>
<p>You must know (began the old man again) that in the
reign of the good King Fortmain the Ninth, I practised
my art as a tailor in the city of Vernicroft, a thriving and
busy city, located in a corner of the Great Forest remote
from—</p>
<p><i>“Vernicroft!” said the King. “I don’t understand it.
There’s no such busy city now. There’s nothing but a
little ruined hamlet away over at the other side of the—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Well,” said the Queen, “perhaps at that time—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Don’t interrupt,” said the King. “Let the man go on.”</i></p>
<p>You must know (began the old man again) that I had
risen to a considerable eminence in my profession. I do
not pretend to say that I was the very best tailor in the
kingdom, for I am far too modest to speak of my own
merit; but the—er—the spangled coat in which you now
see me was a creation of my own brain, and at the time
it was thought to be—er—however, it speaks for itself.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</SPAN></span><i>“I think it’s a perfect sight,” whispered Bojohn to
Bodkin.</i></p>
<p>It is true I was growing old, but I was very well satisfied;
there was no one dependent on me, my clients were numerous
and rich, and I enjoyed the respect due an artist and
man of substance. I had saved a good deal of money, for
I had never squandered any in foolish gifts, nor wasted any
in ridiculous pleasures, nor—but I do not wish to boast.</p>
<p><i>“That’s a wonderful thing to brag about,” whispered
Bodkin to Bojohn.</i></p>
<p>One morning, a balmy morning in spring, I was sitting
cross-legged on my worktable at the rear of my shop, busily
plying the needle, when a stranger, richly dressed, entered
my open door from the street, and approached me, bowing
courteously. He was a handsome man, wearing a short
beard; and I remarked with surprise, by contrast with his
beard, that he was utterly without eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Sir,” said he, “have I the pleasure of addressing the
renowned Solario, whose genius has caused our city to be
envied wherever art is prized?”</p>
<p>I confessed that I was the person.</p>
<p>“My master,” he went on, “is a nobleman, to whose
ears the rumor of your skill and taste has penetrated, although
he lives in retirement and hears not much of the
outer world. I trust that you are at liberty to undertake
a piece of work for him?”</p>
<p>I assured him that I was.</p>
<p>“My master,” he proceeded, “is, I must warn you, unable<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</SPAN></span>
to satisfy himself, in the matter now in hand, with less
than absolute perfection. Already he has been disappointed
in some eight other tailors, and he has learned of
your superlative excellence with much hope; and in order
that he may assure himself how well his report of you is
justified, he has commanded me to entrust to you a small
commission; to wit, to sew on this button.”</p>
<p>I was greatly mortified at this lame conclusion of so
promising a speech; I suspected that the stranger was making
game of me; but his manner was so respectful that I
held my peace, and watched him without a word while he
took from under his short blue velvet cloak a package, and
depositing it before me on my table proceeded to undo it.</p>
<p><i>“This old fellow talks like he was writing a composition,”
whispered Bodkin to Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, he’s a conceited pumpkin,” whispered Bojohn.
“He loves to hear himself talk, and I bet you he’s thinking
we’re thinking we never heard such fine language in our
lives. That’s him, all over.”</i></p>
<h3><i>The Doublet with the Missing Button</i></h3>
<p>The package contained a doublet, of a material I had
never seen before, very thin and glossy, of a texture like
that of wasp’s nest but very tough. The doublet contained
ten buttonholes, but only nine buttons; one button, and
one only, was missing.</p>
<p>“I have here,” said my visitor coolly, “the missing
button; and my master will be obliged if you will sew
it on.”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_004fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">Solario was sitting on his worktable busily plying the needle</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</SPAN></span>He produced the button, a large ivory one, which, with
the garment, he held up before me in his left hand.</p>
<p>“Please to hold out your left hand,” said he.</p>
<p>I did so, and with his own left hand he placed the garment
and the button in mine.</p>
<p>“This doublet,” said he, “must not pass from one to
another but by the left hand. Please to remember that.
And now, adieu. I will return to-morrow. Meantime—”</p>
<p>He laid on my table a small purse, and bowing with
sober courtesy he left the shop.</p>
<p>I turned up the purse, and a number of gold coins fell
out, enough to pay for sewing on five hundred buttons.
“Ah!” thought I. “At this rate I can well afford to gratify
my new client’s whimsies.”</p>
<p>The next day the courteous stranger returned for the
doublet. I delivered it with my left hand into his own
left hand, the button being attached firmly in place. He
thanked me, and departed; but on the morning after, he
reappeared, to my surprise, and as he came in he smiled
at me and shook his head at me waggishly.</p>
<p>“Fie! master Solario!” said he. “How could you have
treated me so? And a mere button, too! Really, my good
Solario!”</p>
<p>He produced the doublet, and showed me that it lacked
a button in the same place as before. He held up in one
hand the ivory button and in the other a length of thread.
I was perplexed. The thread had not been cut, of that
I was sure. It was the identical thread, and of the
identical length.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</SPAN></span>“You will not blame my master,” said the stranger, “if
he finds himself a little aggrieved. He had scarcely put
on the doublet yesterday when the button came off in his
hand. I was commanded to leave it with you once more,
together with this trifling honorarium.”</p>
<p>So saying, he dropped a little purse on my table as before,
and after putting the garment and its button into
my left hand with his own left hand, bowed himself out.
I turned up the purse in haste, and poured out a number
of gold coins, as before, but this time twice as many. I
put away the gold into my coffer, and sewed on the button
once more, with special care.</p>
<p>I whipped the thread around itself under the button,
sewed it through the goods, doubled it back through the
button, wound it and knotted it and doubled it back, and
altogether made such a job of it (however painful to me
as an artist) as was perfect for security.</p>
<p><i>“I don’t see,” interrupted the King, “what all this business
about a button has got to do with—”</i></p>
<p><i>“If your majesty will pardon me,” said the old tailor, “I
have not yet reached the end of my story.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I’m well aware of it,” said the King. “But still I don’t
see—”</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear!” said the Queen, sweetly, and the old man
went on with his story.</i></p>
<p>Next morning the stranger returned for the doublet. I
delivered it into his left hand with my left, and he turned
to go. At the door he looked back at me smiling, and
was about to bow himself out when he paused to try the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</SPAN></span>
button with his fingers. A slight frown came over his
face; he pulled the button gently, and behold, there before
my eyes,—I assure you I saw it with these very eyes,—the
button came off into his hand!</p>
<p>He sighed, looked at me gravely, and held out the button
in one hand and the doublet in the other.</p>
<p>“Alas, good master Solario!” said he. “You have not
treated me very well. The hopes I entertained for your
profit are at an end. It remains only for me to apologize
for my intrusion, and for you to return to me the money
which I left with you.”</p>
<p>This was too much. The idea of returning money which
had once been locked safely in my coffer was more than
I could bear. I sprang down from my table. “One moment!”
I cried. “I beg of you! That I should not be
able to sew on a miserable button—it is too ridiculous!
Let me see your master myself, and prove to him what I
can do! Take me to him at once! Let him assign me
any task whatever, and I swear to you—”</p>
<p>“You wish to see my master?” said the stranger.</p>
<p>“At once!” I cried. “Do not carry back to him a report
of me so unjust! I must see him myself!”</p>
<p>“Be careful what you say,” said the stranger. “You
may be sorry.”</p>
<p>“Impossible!” said I. “Take me to him at once!”</p>
<p>The stranger looked at me thoughtfully. “If I take
you,” said he, “swear that you will never blame me for
what may happen.”</p>
<p>“I swear it!” I cried.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</SPAN></span>“You will remember that I warned you?”</p>
<p>“On my own head be it! Let us go at once!”</p>
<p>“Very well, then. The decision is yours, not mine; remember
that. I will return for you to-night, and you will
then, if you are still of the same mind, be ready to accompany
me to my master.”</p>
<p>He tucked the doublet with its button under his cloak,
and in another moment he was gone.</p>
<p>That night, after dark, as I was putting up my shutters,
a splendid coach and pair, driven by a black man in a rich
but somber livery, stopped at my door, and the smiling
stranger descended. I ran into the shop and put on my
best attire. Some time before, I had designed and executed
the coat in which you now see me; it had been much
admired; I put it on, and hastened out to the stranger,
who bowed me politely into the carriage.</p>
<p>During our journey, my companion exerted himself to
be agreeable; and I, on my part, fairly unloosed the rein
of conversation,—an art in which, I confess, I had always
taken the greatest pleasure. On this occasion I surpassed
myself; I drew upon the mysteries of our noble craft for
his entertainment; I was by turns humorous and grave;
I was at my best; it would not be too much to say that
I sparkled; and in short, when the carriage stopped, I
realized that I had taken no note of our route.</p>
<p>We drew up in a street which was unfamiliar to me.
As we alighted, I observed before me a high wall, extending
in either direction as far as I could see; and immediately
at hand a little door in the wall, toward which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</SPAN></span>
my companion led me. He pulled a bell-rope, and we were
at once admitted by a second black man, in the livery I
had already seen. I was aware, in spite of the darkness,
that we were in a garden, or rather park, of immense
dimensions.</p>
<h3><i>The Dark Mansion in the Walled Park</i></h3>
<p>I could see the dark outline of what appeared to be a
great mansion. There were no lights anywhere. The air
was heavy with the perfume of flowers, a cloying perfume,
oppressively sweet. We came, after a considerable walk,
to the house. At my companion’s knock, a door was
opened by a servant, black like the other two.</p>
<p>We entered a narrow hall, and at the end of this hall
we reached a door, which was opened by a fourth man-servant,
black like the others; and after ascending a flight
of stairs, and traversing several spacious apartments, we
came to a pause in a small but elegant room, where my
companion left me.</p>
<p>In a moment he returned, and beckoned me to come
with him. He opened a door, gently pushed me through,
closed the door behind me, and left me, as he advanced,
blinking under the light of a hundred candles in a room
more superb than any I had ever seen. The colored tiles
of the floor, the thick rugs, the curious vases, the pictured
tapestries on the walls,—I took them all in at a glance;
and I was aware at the same time of an aroma like that
of the flowers in the garden, but very faint.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Tailor Meets the Tall Black Man and His Fair Daughter</i></h3>
<p>At one end of the apartment was a table, loaded with
fruit and flowers and wine. At the other end, on a divan,
sat a tall and majestic man, dressed in the most exquisite
taste. His skin was ebony black. He wore drooping black
mustaches, and his hair was long and black; but I observed
that he was, like the Courteous Stranger, totally
without eyebrows.</p>
<p>At his feet, on a cushion, sat a lady, young and beautiful,
a lady divinely beautiful, more beautiful than any I
had ever seen or dreamed of. Her complexion! it was
all cream and roses. Her eyes! they were blue of the blueness
of violets, and they were merry and soft together.
Her hair!—I swear I can see her at this moment. Her
hair was of the— But I must not allow myself to think
of her. The black man and the wonderful lady rose,
and my companion presented me.</p>
<p>“You are welcome, Solario,” said the tall black man,
smiling graciously. “You have wished to see me, as I
hear, and to give me proof of your skill. But we can converse
better while we refresh ourselves. You observe that
the table is set for four. My daughter has, as you see,
already counted upon your company. I hope you will consent
to accept our poor hospitality.”</p>
<p>We seated ourselves at the table. My host clapped his
hands four times, and four serving men entered, bearing
the first course. They were black, like the four I had already<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</SPAN></span>
seen. They were without eyebrows, and I seemed
to remember the same defect in the other four. Eight
men servants, all black, and all without eyebrows! I was
puzzled; and when I looked from the fair face of the lady
opposite me to the black face of her father, I was completely
mystified. As for my stranger, he scarcely took
his eyes from the damsel; and from the manner in which
she now and then returned his gaze, I could see that they
were on a footing of tenderness.</p>
<p>When we were at the end of our repast, and were
trifling with our grapes and wine, my black host addressed
himself directly to me. I was in a mellow mood; I felt
that I could scarcely have denied him anything; and as for
his daughter, if she had bade me run for her sake to the
ends of the— Well, the wine was excellent; I sniffed
in it the same aroma I had noticed twice before; and I
was in consequence of it in that state of peace which in
other circumstances would have preceded slumber. My
host leaned toward me in the friendliest attitude.</p>
<h3><i>The Black Prince Tells His Story</i></h3>
<p>“My dear Solario,” said he, “you are asking yourself,
all this while, who I am. I am a Prince, heir to the throne
of the distant kingdom of Wen. My skin was formerly
white, like my daughter’s. It was changed, as you see it
now, by the power of an enemy, and I am awaiting here,
in exile, with my daughter and my friend, the release which
day and night I dream of. If you are not too weary, I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</SPAN></span>
will relate to you the adventure which brought me here
and changed my skin.”</p>
<p>“With all my heart,” said I; whereupon, without further
preamble, he commenced</p>
<h4>THE STORY OF THE BLACK PRINCE</h4>
<p>“Know, most excellent Solario,” he began, “that my
father the King of Wen called me to him one day, and
sitting down with me addressed me as follows. ‘My son,’
said he—”</p>
<p><i>“Is it a long story?” asked the King, yawning behind his
hand.</i></p>
<p><i>“It is very interesting,” said the old tailor.</i></p>
<p><i>“Not what I asked,” said the King. “Is it long?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Well,—well—” said the old man.</i></p>
<p><i>“Then we will hear it another time,” said the King.
“Pray let us hear what happened to you.”</i></p>
<p><i>The old man bowed, quite crestfallen, and proceeded
with his story.</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, shucks,” said Bojohn to Bodkin.</i></p>
<p>When the Black Prince had concluded his own tale, he
paused, and then said to me:</p>
<p>“Now, Solario, as to those circumstances of my misfortune
which precede the tale I have just told you, I will,
if you consent, call on my good friend here, who was personally
concerned in them, to relate them to you.”</p>
<p>Whereupon he nodded to my companion, who at once
commenced</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4>THE STORY OF THE COURTEOUS STRANGER</h4>
<p>“You must know,” he began, “that soon after my arrival
at the city of—”</p>
<p><i>“What has this got to do with your being enchanted by
the witch?” said the King.</i></p>
<p><i>“Well,” said Solario, “its bearing on what afterward
happened to me is perhaps a little indirect, but I assure
your majesty that—”</i></p>
<p><i>“No, no,” said the King. “I never sit up late, and it’s
getting on toward my bedtime.”</i></p>
<p><i>The old man sighed.</i></p>
<p>When the Courteous Stranger had finished his story, the
Black Prince gazed at me for a moment.</p>
<p>“Solario,” said he, “I will tell you the conclusion of the
whole matter in a word. To him who shall deliver me from
this spell, I will give five hundred thousand pieces of gold,
of the money of your country. And, Solario,” he said, bending
toward me and pointing at me with his finger, “I believe
you are the man.”</p>
<p>Visions of Solario the tailor as the richest man in Vernicroft
flashed before my eyes, and left me dizzy.</p>
<p>“It is a matter of sewing on a button,” said the Prince.
“I am allowed nine tailors for the trial, on the principle
that nine tailors are the equivalent of one—ahem! I beg
your pardon. Eight tailors have already essayed it, and
failed. You are the ninth.”</p>
<p>“And what has become of the other eight?” I asked,
with some misgiving.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</SPAN></span>The Black Prince smiled. “You have already seen
them,” said he.</p>
<p>“I?” I exclaimed in amazement.</p>
<h3><i>Eight Tailors Who Could not Sew on a Single Button</i></h3>
<p>“Four of them served our table here to-night, and the
other four you have met between your shop and this room.”</p>
<p>“The eight black servants?” I cried.</p>
<p>“Precisely,” said the Prince. “I must tell you, that he
who fails comes himself under the spell, his skin changes
to black, and he remains here with me in my retirement.
If you deliver me, you deliver also these other eight. If
you fail, you condemn yourself and all of us to everlasting
misery. You are our final hope. What do you say?”</p>
<p>I was becoming almost lightheaded with the prospect
of my reward. Perhaps the wine had something to do
with it; perhaps it was the Prince’s daughter, who smiled
upon me bewitchingly.</p>
<p>“You have already seen my doublet,” said the Prince.
“So long as it remained intact, no harm could touch me.
But my enemy, as I have related to you, succeeded in detaching
from it a single button, and taking away the thread.
Instantly all its virtue was gone; I was helpless. To this
mischance I owe all my misery; my happiness hangs on
a button. Take the doublet, Solario, and find the thread
which will withstand sorcery. Three months are allowed
you. Here are the doublet and the button; guard them
as you would your life; and may you return to receive my
thanks and the fortune which awaits you.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</SPAN></span>With his left hand he placed the doublet and the button
in my left hand. The perfume of the wine seemed to
grow heavier; I was very drowsy; I tried to speak; I could
not arouse myself; I was conscious of the eager smile of
the Prince’s daughter, and I knew no more.</p>
<p>When I came to myself, I was in my bed behind the
shop, and it was morning. My first thought was that I
had had an unusual dream, but there on the pillow beside
me lay the identical doublet and button, and I found
myself wearing the spangled coat of the evening before.
I jumped up and prepared my breakfast, but I could not
eat. A desperate case I had gotten myself into, indeed!
Where on earth should I obtain a thread which would
withstand sorcery? And if I should fail—! I pushed
aside my food and buried my face in my hands.</p>
<p>I heard the bell over my shop door tinkle, as if some
customer were coming in. I paid no attention. Why
had I allowed this hopeless enterprise to be thrust upon
me? I was lost.</p>
<h3><i>The Tailor Is Visited by a Hideous Old Woman</i></h3>
<p>I heard a cackle of unpleasant laughter. I looked up
quickly and saw, sitting at the opposite side of my table,
a little old woman, extremely hideous of face, hook-nosed,
toothless, and wrinkled, munching her gums and watching
me with little, malicious eyes.</p>
<p>The ancient hag did not leave me long in doubt about
her business.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</SPAN></span>“Master tailor,” said she, “the fortune is yours if you
will have it.”</p>
<p>Her voice was like nothing so much as the crackling of
dry wood in a brisk fire.</p>
<p>“Never mind what I know nor how I know it,” she went
on, answering my thought before I spoke. “What would
you give to know where and how to obtain the thread
which will hold the button?”</p>
<p>“Anything!” I cried. “That is, almost anything.”</p>
<p>“Would you marry?”</p>
<p>I thought of the adorable young lady whom I had seen
the night before.</p>
<p>“Willingly!” I said. “That is,—yes, I think—”</p>
<p>“Then I will tell you the condition on which you may
have the thread. You must marry me.”</p>
<p>I looked at the frightful old creature; then I laughed
and laughed; I could not help it. She arose in a great fury,
grasped the crooked stick which she bore with her, and
hobbled toward the door.</p>
<p>“You shall never find it!” she said. “No, never! You
shall be a black and penniless outcast! You shall wish
you had never been born! You are lost, lost, lost!”</p>
<p>That terrible prospect sobered me. If this woman could
by any chance save me from such a fate, what price would
be too great?</p>
<p>“Come back,” I said, “I will think it over.”</p>
<p>“Speak!” said she. “Will you, or will you not?”</p>
<p>I looked at her. She was very old. She could not live
long, at best. She might not live until the wedding day.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</SPAN></span>
And if she should, a man of my wealth and power could
afterward find the means of mitigating the horrors of
such a marriage.</p>
<p>“How do I know you can perform your promise?” I
asked.</p>
<p>“You need not perform yours until I have performed
mine. Come, master tailor, will you or will you not?”</p>
<p>“I will,” said I. “On the day when I receive my fortune
from the Prince, I will marry you. Merciful powers!”</p>
<p>“Good,” said she. “Now listen to me. The thread
which will hold the button is the single black hair in the
tail of the white unicorn, Alb, who feeds in the half-moon
pasture of Korbi, by the river Tarn. Listen carefully while
I tell you what you must do.”</p>
<p>She then gave me the most minute directions; and when
she had finished, she arose and hobbled to the door.</p>
<p>“Stop!” I said. “Tell me who you are, and where you
live, and when I shall see you again.”</p>
<p>She answered never a word; she was gone.</p>
<h3><i>The Jolly Mule Driver and His Sing-Song</i></h3>
<p>I wrote down all I could remember of her instructions,
and went out into the street to cool my burning head. As
I stood before the door, I heard a jingling of little bells,
and a voice singing and shouting, and saw, coming toward
me down the street, a train of five or six mules, driven
by a short fellow in a leather jerkin, on foot, who was
singing raucously and shouting lustily to his animals. His<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</SPAN></span>
face was gay and humorous, and he cracked his whip
merrily.</p>
<p>“Good mules for hire!” he sang. “Good mules for
hire! We’ll bring you to your heart’s desire! We laugh
at rain and snow and mire! We never lag and never tire!
We <i>thread</i> our way through ice and fire! Good mules for
hire! Good mules for hire!”</p>
<p>“Thread!” What did he mean by that word? I stared
at him, and as he was passing me he looked at me long
and hard, and gave me a slow wink.</p>
<p>A little while later, as I was ironing a piece of goods
within doors, the mule driver himself appeared in the shop.</p>
<p>“At your service, master Solario!” he cried, gayly. “For
a long journey or a short one! If you’re thinking of
going a journey, I’m your man! Come, master Solario,
the sun is shining, lock up the shop!”</p>
<p>It seemed a curious piece of good fortune that this fellow
should have appeared almost on the heels of the old
woman herself, and the long and short of it was that I
hired him for my journey, at so much per week. He agreed
to provide the necessary outfit, and we would depart that
night.</p>
<p>My preparations were soon made. The notes I had
made of the old woman’s directions I sewed inside my vest.
I placed in my strong box the doublet and the button, and
bestowed the box where it could not be found during my
absence. At midnight, my driver appeared. It was a
starry night. I locked the shop, and we mounted our
mules. Preceded by four other animals, packed with our<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</SPAN></span>
outfit, we quietly moved down the street, past the last
houses, and into the forest. My search for the white
unicorn had begun.</p>
<h3><i>Adventures in Search of Alb the Unicorn</i></h3>
<p>From that night until we came in sight of the river Tarn,
far beyond the confines of the Forest Kingdom, the adventures
we encountered were numerous and fearful. We
spent weeks on this perilous journey. In the second week
we came to a dark castle on the side of a mountain. We
crossed the drawbridge, which strangely happened to be
down, though it was late at night, and blew the horn which
hung by the gate. But perhaps it will be unnecessary to
detail these adventures?</p>
<p><i>“Totally unnecessary,” said the King. “I can scarcely
restrain my impatience to know how the story ends.”</i></p>
<p>There are several, however, of extraordinary interest,
which you might perhaps be pleased to hear: the adventure
of the Roving Griffin, the adventure of the Blind Giant,
the adventure of Montesango’s Cave—</p>
<p><i>“Yes, yes,” said Bojohn and Bodkin, in a loud whisper.</i></p>
<p><i>“No,” said the King. “I must beg you to reserve these
pleasures for another occasion. I can’t sit up all night.”</i></p>
<p>We reached at last, on a sunshiny morning, the top of
a little hill, from which we looked down on a narrow and
shallow river, curved at this point outward in a crescent,
and beyond it we saw a meadow of some two miles in depth,
bounded at the rear by a high cliff, curved also outward<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</SPAN></span>
like a crescent, and reaching the river at the right hand
and the left of the meadow. The meadow thus enclosed
resembled in shape a half-moon.</p>
<p>“Ah!” I cried. “The river Tarn and the half-moon
pasture of Korbi!”</p>
<p>I left my mule driver, and descended alone to the river.
I found a ford, and though the water reached my shoulders,
I had no difficulty in wading to the other side. I came
there upon the pasture I had seen from the hill. It was
green with tall grass, and sprinkled with flowers. I looked
about fearfully, but the unicorn was not in sight. Creeping
cautiously, I made toward the high cliff at the further
side of the meadow. Just before I reached it, I
stopped to consult my notes:</p>
<p>“A circle of white stones on the side of the cliff, higher
than a man’s reach. In the center of the circle, a blood-red
flower growing on a long stem.”</p>
<h3><i>Solario Encounters Alb the Unicorn</i></h3>
<p>I walked along at the foot of the cliff, and after some ten
minutes descried above me the circle of white stones. The
wall was perfectly upright, but its surface was rugged
enough to give promise of a foothold. I turned my head,
and at that instant saw, a short distance away, farther
down the line of the cliff, standing knee-deep in the grass
and flowers, a small horse, pure white, with a pure white
mane and tail, and a sharp-pointed horn in the middle
of his forehead.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_020fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">The unicorn stamped and gave a piercing neigh</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</SPAN></span>As he saw me, he stamped his hoof and threw his head
high. I started for the cliff; he made for the same point,
as if to intercept me. I knew that against that sharp horn
I should be helpless; it was now a matter of life and
death. I ran with all my might; the unicorn came on at
a gallop; we approached the foot of the cliff together;
his head was down, and I could already in imagination feel
his horn in my side; I doubled my exertions; I reached the
cliff, and leaped up on the rocks just out of his reach,
as he swept by me; I was safe.</p>
<p>I clung to my perch panting, and then painfully climbed
to the circle of white stones. There, in its center, was the
blood-red flower. The unicorn was standing below, watching
me. When he saw me bend toward the flower, he
stamped, shook his mane, and gave a long piercing neigh,
as a horse will when he is in pain. I plucked the flower
at the root. The unicorn’s excitement was extraordinary.
He pranced and bounded, shrieking in a manner almost
human. I shivered at the thought of going down to him,
but it had to be done. I descended carefully, holding the
flower out in the unicorn’s view. His shrieks subsided
into a moaning cry. He shook his head up and down, as
if under some strong command. I reached the ground.</p>
<p>I paused there for a moment, for I confess I was
desperately afraid. Little by little I advanced to him,
holding out the flower. He pranced and whined. I came
within arm’s length of his head, and held the flower before
his mouth. With a quiver which shook his whole
body, he seized it in his teeth. I quickly ran to his tail,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span>
and searched there for the single black hair, keeping well
away from his heels. Covered by the brush of white hair
I found it. I seized it and gave it a mighty jerk. Out
it came into my hand.</p>
<p>The unicorn trembled and tottered; and there in his
place before my eyes stood a handsome young man, clad
in a suit of soft and exquisite white leather. He fell on
his knees before me and kissed my hand.</p>
<p>“Thanks, brave deliverer!” he cried. “The enchantment
is broken! I am myself again! How glorious to
be free!”</p>
<p>I raised him from the ground, and led him to a convenient
place, where we sat down and conversed. I placed
the precious black hair securely in the lining of my vest.
If I on my part was overjoyed, the young man was positively
beside himself. He laughed and cried by turns.
I was of course intensely curious as to the circumstances
of his enchantment. He willingly consented to relate them
to me, and as soon as he had composed himself a little he
began</p>
<h4>THE STORY OF THE WHITE UNICORN</h4>
<p>“I was born,” said the young man, “in the Island Kingdom,
far out in the Great Sea, the only son of a rich—”</p>
<p><i>“Never mind, never mind,” interrupted the King; “not
now, some other time. It’s my bedtime. Get on with your
own story. We’ve no time now to listen to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear,” said the Queen, sweetly, “perhaps if
you’d—”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span><i>“Some other time,” said the King. “Not now, not now.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, botheration,” said Bojohn to Bodkin. “He won’t
let us hear anything.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I think it’s too bad,” said Bodkin to Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>The old man in the spangled coat sighed profoundly.</i></p>
<p>When the young man had finished his tale, the day was
far advanced. I wished to take him back with me to
Vernicroft, but he was anxious to return to the Island Kingdom
without losing a moment; we crossed the river together,
and parted. I have never seen him since.</p>
<p>We made good speed homeward; all our difficulties
seemed to have vanished. At first, I was saddened by
the thought of my approaching marriage to the hideous and
hateful old hag; but a new thought began to take possession
of me, and grew stronger as we rode along from day
to day, and my heart soon became lighter. Master as I
was of such a key to power as lay secure within my vest,
I could marry whom I chose. Why should I marry the
ugliest creature I had ever seen, when the most beautiful
might be mine for the asking? The more I thought of
it, the more indignant I became at the manner in which
my easy good nature had been imposed on at every hand;
I had been grossly overreached; the bargain was beyond
measure unconscionable; the exquisite face of the Prince’s
daughter haunted me day and night— And in short,
when we arrived at Vernicroft, my mind was made up;
I would <i>not</i> marry the old woman, and I would exact from
the Prince a reward far more suitable than the one he had
promised.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span>It was just on the stroke of midnight when we reached
my shop. I left my driver on the sill, and procuring the
necessary gold within, paid him off and dismissed him. He
was a merry fellow, and had served me well, though I
must say that I had never learned to like his way of cooking
beans. He bade me a gay farewell, and as I turned
back into the shop I looked over my shoulder, expecting
to see him with his mules on his way down the street. To
my astonishment, there was positively nothing in sight;
the street was empty; in that moment the driver and his
animals had vanished.</p>
<p>I entered the shop. The journey had cost me all the
savings of my lifetime. But what did it matter? I was
about to become rich beyond all my dreams. I lit my
lamp and looked about me. There, beside my tailor’s
bench, sat the old woman herself. Her hands rested on
the head of her crooked stick, and her toothless jaws were
working.</p>
<p>“Well,” she said, “you have it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said I, “I have it.”</p>
<p>“Good,” said she. “The Prince’s friend has been here
many times. He will come to-morrow. I will return to
claim you afterward. Good.”</p>
<p>She rose, leaned on her stick, and nodding her head
and grinning to herself hobbled out of the shop. My resolution
to save myself from this outrageous creature became
absolutely fixed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Button Is Sewed on with the Unicorn’s Hair</i></h3>
<p>I drew out the black hair of the unicorn’s tail, and gave
myself up to the pleasant task of sewing on the button.
It was soon done, and it was well done. Nothing could
be more secure. I placed the doublet under my pillow
and went to bed.</p>
<p>In the morning I arose with a light heart. In order
that the doublet might be near me, I put it on; and during
the day three accidents proved its quality. First, a hot iron
with which I was pressing my spangled coat slipped from
my right hand and came down squarely on my left, and
I felt no pain whatever. Next, a needle pricked my finger,
and I was aware of no inconvenience. And last, as I was
standing in the doorway, some wicked boys, with whom
I was never a favorite, hurled a stone at me, striking me
violently on the temple; but its effect was no more than that
of a soft cushion. Undoubtedly the unicorn’s hair was
the authentic thread.</p>
<p>At nightfall, after I had put up my shutters, I stored
the doublet secretly away, and was making ready to go
to bed, when a knock sounded at the door, and I admitted
the Prince’s friend, smiling and gracious as before. He
looked inquiringly at me. I bowed and smiled.</p>
<p>“Yes,” I said, “the work is done.”</p>
<p>“The thread?” he cried.</p>
<p>“I have it, never fear! The work is done.”</p>
<p>He was in a state of great excitement.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span>“Come!” he cried. “The carriage is at the door. Bring
it with you. Hurry!”</p>
<p>In a moment I was in his carriage, with a bundle under
my arm. We stopped at the same place as before, and
reached by the same route the room where I had first
seen the Prince and his daughter. They arose in agitation
as I came in, and at a joyful signal from my companion
came forward and grasped my hands. Truly the lady was
more beautiful than I had dreamed.</p>
<p>“You have succeeded?” said the Prince.</p>
<p>“I have!” said I. “Your deliverance is assured!” And
I described the accidents from which the doublet had protected
me that day.</p>
<p>“Let us sit down,” said the Prince; and when we were
all seated, with fruit and wine before us, he begged me to
tell my story.</p>
<p>I told as much as I thought fit, omitting any mention of
the old woman. The Prince desired to see the doublet.
With my left hand I placed in his left the package I had
brought with me. He opened it and held up the contents.
Alas, it was not the doublet at all, but some indifferent
garment intended for another client!</p>
<p>He looked at me in amazement. I was covered with
confusion, and begged him to overlook my carelessness.
He listened coldly.</p>
<p>“You will bring the doublet here to-morrow,” he said
sternly.</p>
<p>“That is understood,” I said. “Meanwhile,” I went<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span>
on, fortifying myself with another glass of the perfumed
wine, “we may as well discuss the question of my reward.”</p>
<p>“That,” said the Prince, “is already settled.”</p>
<p>“The case is altered,” I said. “If I had known what
lay before me, I could have made more fitting terms; but
I was in the dark; the dangers and exertions of my existence
since then have changed the case completely. I
am sure that you do not wish to deal with me unjustly.
Think what my service means to you! In your place,
I should think nothing too precious for my deliverer.”</p>
<p>A dark frown came over the Prince’s face.</p>
<p>“What is it you demand?” said he.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince Receives the Tailor’s Terms</i></h3>
<p>“I demand nothing,” said I. “But if you wish to have
the doublet and be restored to yourself, your country, and
your people, I shall ask only three things: one million pieces
of gold, this house, and your daughter’s hand in marriage.”</p>
<p>All three jumped to their feet. I sat calmly. At a look
from the Prince, his daughter and the Courteous Stranger
sat down again. They were both very pale.</p>
<p>“These are your terms?” said the Prince. “You are
resolved on this?”</p>
<p>“Inflexibly,” I said.</p>
<p>“Then we must consider,” said he. “When you bring
the doublet to-morrow you shall have my answer. For
the present, let us dismiss the subject.”</p>
<p>His command of himself was superb. He began to talk<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span>
lightly on indifferent subjects, and as he talked his voice
became gradually more distant, and I grew drowsy; I
knew I was falling asleep. I remember nothing more until
I awoke the next morning in my own bed.</p>
<p>To my surprise, the old woman did not appear at all
on that day. On the whole, the time passed pleasantly.
I had no doubt the Prince would accept my terms. I
reveled in the happiness which was so soon to be mine.</p>
<p>At night, dressed in my spangled coat, and with a bundle
under my arm, I sat in the shop waiting for my stranger.
I was too wise to take with me the true doublet, and you
may be sure the bundle contained a substitute. It would
be time enough to deliver the magic garment at the wedding.
It reposed meanwhile under lock and key, concealed
beyond the possibility of discovery.</p>
<p>It was late when the stranger appeared. He conducted
me to the Prince and his daughter in chilly silence. The
Prince was standing, and his daughter sat on the divan,
her chin in her hand.</p>
<p>“You have brought the doublet?” said the Prince.</p>
<p>“First,” I said, “do you accept the terms?”</p>
<p>“I must see the doublet,” he said.</p>
<p>With my left hand I placed the bundle in his left hand.
He opened it. When he saw its contents, he turned on me
with a face like a thunder cloud.</p>
<p>“What!” said I. “Another accident? Well, it’s of no
consequence. The doublet is safe, perfectly safe. It will
be placed in your hands—<i>at the wedding</i>. Do you consent?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Magic Doublet Is Suddenly Produced</i></h3>
<p>He clapped his hands. A door opened behind the
divan, and—I could scarcely believe my eyes—in hobbled,
with her crooked stick, the old woman whom I had pledged
myself to marry. I was speechless with astonishment.
The Prince clapped his hands again. From other doors
entered the eight black tailors whom I had seen before.
The ancient hag approached the Prince, and drew forth
from her dress the doublet which I had left securely locked
and hidden at home! I saw it closely; it could be no other.
With her left hand she laid it in the left hand of the
Prince.</p>
<p>In an instant he had put it on. When he had buttoned
the last button, a startling change came over him and the
eight black tailors. All their faces grew a mottled blue,
then red, and then the natural color of healthy white skin.</p>
<p>At the same time the room began to contract. The ceiling
came slowly down and stopped just above my head.
The walls came slowly together, and as they reached the
Prince, his daughter, the Courteous Stranger, and the eight
tailors, gave way to them, so that all these persons passed
from view on the outer side, and I was left alone with
the hideous old woman, with the walls coming in upon
us by degrees until I thought we should be crushed.</p>
<p>I became dizzy; I sank in terror upon the chair which
stood beside me. The walls came on from all four sides
until the place wherein I sat was no bigger than a cupboard,
and there they stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</SPAN></span>
and attempted to rise. To my horror, I could not move.</p>
<p>The old woman pointed a skinny finger at me and gave a
loud and angry laugh which sent a chill up and down my
spine. She moved her finger about in strange figures. She
mumbled to herself a torrent of meaningless words; and
passing through the door which remained before me in
one wall of my cabinet, she left me, and closed the door
behind her. The closet began to rock; it seemed to rise,
and in a moment I knew that it was flying with me through
space....</p>
<p>Thus, your majesty (said the old man in the spangled
coat), I came to be imprisoned in my cell beneath the Forest
Pool. There I sat, unable to move or speak, for nearly
a hundred years, until the happy day when I was delivered
by the excellent Prince, your grandson; and for the refuge
which has been accorded me in your majesty’s castle I now
tender to your majesty my grateful thanks, and—</p>
<p><i>“Eh? What? Did you say something?” exclaimed the
King, waking up from a sound slumber, and rubbing his
eyes. “Oh, yes. I see. Very interesting. Very interesting.
Something about a button, wasn’t it? Bless my soul,
I’d no idea it was so late. It’s long past my bedtime.
I’m always late for breakfast when I stay up past my— Mortimer,
will you see to it that the castle windows are
locked for the night? My dear, I think we will have bacon
and eggs in the morning; and if it’s at all possible, I’d
like to have a piece of toast that isn’t burnt. The audience
is now over.”</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_031.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE SECOND NIGHT<br/> <small>ALB THE UNICORN</small></h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><i>SOLARIO the Tailor was sitting at the open window
of his room in the northeast tower of the castle, looking
out at the stars which glittered in a clear sky
over the Great Forest. He sighed, and rising wearily lit
the candles on his table; and at that moment there came a
knock on his door, and Bojohn and Bodkin entered, rather
timidly.</i></p>
<p><i>“If you please, sir—” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Pray be seated,” said Solario, and they all sat down.
“It’s a warm evening,” said he.</i></p>
<p><i>“We thought,” said Bojohn, “that you might perhaps
be willing to tell us one of the stories that you—”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span><i>“It’s very warm this evening, indeed,” said Solario.
“Quite oppressive.”</i></p>
<p><i>“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” said Bodkin, “we’d
like you to tell us about—”</i></p>
<p><i>“I don’t know when I’ve felt the heat so much,” said the
old tailor. “But then it’s the idleness. If there were only
something to do, there wouldn’t be so much time to think
about the weather.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Last night, sir,” said Bojohn, “you were obliged to
leave out some parts of your story, and we thought—”</i></p>
<p><i>“If I only had a few good ells of cloth on my table, and
a man like—well, say like Mortimer the Executioner,—to
exercise my art on, I’d be the happiest man alive; but as
it is, sitting here with nothing to do—”</i></p>
<p><i>“There was one tale you mentioned,” said Bojohn, “about
a—”</i></p>
<p><i>“It’s a very fine thing to be a Knight of the Silver Lamp,”
said Solario, “but there doesn’t seem to be much connected
with it in the nature of work. If I could only be employed
in making a suit of clothes for Mortimer the Executioner!</i>
There’s <i>a subject! The biggest man I’ve ever seen in my
life, and the hardest to fit! That would be an undertaking
worthy of my genius. Dear, dear!”</i></p>
<p><i>“I’ll speak to grandfather about it,” said Bojohn. “I’m
sure he’ll let you make a suit for Mortimer. But what we
would like to know is—”</i></p>
<p><i>“We’d like to hear one of the stories,” began Bodkin
again, “that the King made you leave out last night
when—”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span><i>“It made no difference to me, I assure you,” said Solario,
stiffly. “None whatever.”</i></p>
<p><i>“But if you would only tell us—” said Bodkin.</i></p>
<p><i>“I do not wish to annoy any one with my dull tales,”
said Solario. “Far from it; far from it indeed, I assure
you.”</i></p>
<p><i>“But there was one” said Bojohn, “about a griffin;
what kind of a griffin did you say it was?”</i></p>
<p><i>“I believe, if I remember correctly, it was a Roving
Griffin; but his majesty your grandfather—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, never mind grandfather,” said Bojohn. “Tell us
about the—”</i></p>
<p><i>“I’d rather hear the one about the giant,” said Bodkin.</i></p>
<p><i>“You probably have reference to the Blind Giant,” said
Solario. “But—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Then there was one,” said Bojohn, “about some cave
or other.”</i></p>
<p><i>“The Cave of Montesango,” said Solario. “I remember
it only too well. But I couldn’t tell you that; it would be
too terrible. You wouldn’t be able to sleep in your beds
to-night.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Then tell us that one!” cried the two boys, together.</i></p>
<p><i>“No,” said Solario. “The King would never approve
if I—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Grandfather isn’t here now,” said Bojohn. “Please—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Perhaps,” said Solario, “I might tell you the story concerning
the— But I fear it would bore you.”</i></p>
<p><i>“No! no!” cried the boys.</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span><i>“Then I might perhaps tell you the story of Alb the
Unicorn, only—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Yes! yes! Tell us about the unicorn!”</i></p>
<p><i>“You are sure it will not weary you?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Not a bit!” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Would you mind, sir,” said Bodkin, “leaving out the big
words?”</i></p>
<p><i>“I shall willingly endeavor to gratify your reasonable
predilection for lucidity,” said Solario.</i></p>
<p><i>“Sir?” said Bodkin.</i></p>
<p><i>“Never mind,” said Bojohn. “Let him go on.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Ahem!” said the old man, clearing his throat. “I will
give you as much of it as I can remember, as it was told me
by the young man in the white leather suit while we were
sitting in the half-moon pasture of Korbi by the river Tarn,
after I had delivered him from his enchantment. You are
sure it will not weary you?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Go on! Go on!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Then I will begin,” said Solario, settling himself back at
his ease, and folding his hands across his stomach,</i></p>
<h4>“THE STORY OF ALB THE UNICORN.”</h4>
<p>You must know (said the young man to me) that I am
called Alb the Fortunate. I was born in the Island Kingdom,
far out in the Great Sea, the only son of a rich goldsmith.
I lived with my parents, by whom I was tenderly
loved, in the principal city of that kingdom, in which city,
on a height overlooking the island, stood the castle of the
King.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>Alb the Fortunate and the Princess Hyla</i></h3>
<p>My father, whose skill in his art had caused him to be
valued highly by the King, was a familiar figure at the castle,
and I had there, in company with my mother, become acquainted
with the young Princess Hyla, the King’s only
child, a beautiful and amiable girl some two years younger
than myself. We were even permitted to play together in
the gardens of the castle, for the King was in no wise proud,
but on the contrary made a point of treating his subjects with
a friendliness which endeared him to them all. I need
hardly tell you that from the earliest moment I knew that I
loved the little Princess.</p>
<p>I grew thus in time to be twelve years old. Although my
parents had done for me all that love could devise and
money could effect, I had caused them much uneasiness. My
disposition was unnaturally gloomy; I scarcely ever smiled;
my mind was filled with terrors, I knew not why; I would sit
for hours in moody silence; the games of other boys did not
amuse me; and I would find myself at times weeping bitterly,
for no reason whatever.</p>
<p>All that my parents could do to divert me availed nothing;
I continued to be a misery to myself and to them. They
feared for my health; their wealth no longer gave them any
pleasure; and an atmosphere of gloom settled down upon
their house. Sometimes my mother would look mournfully
into my eyes while she smoothed back the yellow hair
from my forehead; and I knew that she would willingly
have given all that she had to make me happy.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</SPAN></span>On my twelfth birthday it chanced that I was in my
father’s shop, alone. My mother had gone into the back
room, and my father was absent, for the day, at the residence
of a distant client. I had been trying all that morning to find
some occupation to amuse me, but without success; I had
finally given myself up to a restless and discontented idleness;
and at the moment I was examining in my hand, without
much interest, a long chain, of extremely fine gold and
delicate workmanship, which I had picked up from one of
the cabinets in the shop. I was in the act of placing it back
in its case, wondering what I should do next, when a strange
figure entered the door from the street, and approached me.</p>
<h3><i>A Tattered Old Beggar Comes to the Goldsmith’s Shop</i></h3>
<p>It was an old man, evidently a beggar, a huge man, fat
and heavy, his face covered by a gray beard which hung to
his waist, and his eyes, which were very bright, almost
hidden by shaggy eyebrows,—the longest eyebrows I had
ever seen on any human being. A ragged tunic of brown,
belted around the middle, hung scantily to his knees; a battered
felt hat flapped over his forehead; and in his hand he
carried, for a staff, what seemed to be a yardstick, such as
tailors use. From his belt hung a pair of large shears, also
of the sort used by tailors. A queer tailor! thought I.</p>
<p>“Good morning, master Melancholy,” said he, “have you
a mind for trade this morning?”</p>
<p>The idea of this poor creature’s pretending to be a customer
at such a shop as ours was too absurd. I could not
restrain a little toss of the head.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_036fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">“There is something here,” said the old beggar, “which I wish to buy”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</SPAN></span>“So?” said the old man. “Is that what you think?
Nevertheless, there is something here which I wish to buy.”
He looked around the shop. “I wish to buy a chain, a gold
one; and I see none that pleases me so much as the one you
are holding behind your back. Will you sell it?”</p>
<p>I was astonished that he should have discovered the chain,
which I could have sworn was hidden from his eyes. I drew
it forth and held it up.</p>
<p>“Be so good as to let me see it,” said the old man; and
at the same time he took it from me, before I could snatch
it away.</p>
<p>“What may the price be, my young merchant?” said he.</p>
<p>I was trembling with anxiety, but I thought it best to end
the whole matter by naming the price, which I found on the
card which remained in the cabinet.</p>
<p>While I hesitated, the horrid creature gazed at me with
his glittering eyes through his tangled eyebrows, and ran his
fingers down his beard like a comb.</p>
<p>“The price,” I said, “is four thousand gold florins. Now
please give me back the chain.”</p>
<p>“The price is high,” said the old man, “but I will take it.”</p>
<p>“Then give me the money,” said I.</p>
<p>“Money?” said he, with an air of great surprise.
“Money? But I have no money.”</p>
<p>“Then how are you going to buy the chain?” said I.
“Give it back to me.”</p>
<p>“I will buy it, nevertheless,” said he. “I will give you
what is better than money.”</p>
<p>“What is that?” said I, suspiciously.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</SPAN></span>“I will give you,” said he, “whatever you would like best
in the world.”</p>
<p>“Then give me back the chain.”</p>
<p>“Think!” said he. “What would you like best in all the
world, for your very self?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” I said, ready to cry. “I want the chain back.
If you don’t give it to me,” I said, angrily, “I will call my
mother.”</p>
<p>“With all the pleasure in the world,” said the impudent
old rascal.</p>
<p>I was now ready to cry in good earnest.</p>
<h3><i>The Old Man Proposes a Strange Bargain</i></h3>
<p>“But I advise you to listen to me, my young friend,” went
on the dreadful creature. “You may make a wish, if you
will; and if you don’t, I will. If I keep the chain, you shall
make the wish; if you keep the chain, I will make it; but I
warn you, if I make the wish, I shall wish you harm! Such
harm that you would rather be dead than alive! Come
now, will you sell me the chain for a wish?”</p>
<p>“I can’t,” I said, “I can’t.” And I began to cry.</p>
<p>“Then you would like to be crippled all your life? To
find vipers in your bed every night? To see the Princess run
away from the sight of you? To suffer a sharp pain in your
ears, to have all your drink turn to—”</p>
<p>“No, no!” I cried. “Please don’t, please don’t!”</p>
<p>“Then you had better sell me the chain. What would you
like best in the world?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</SPAN></span>“Oh, I want to be happy! I want to be happy! I’m so
miserable!”</p>
<p>“You really wish to be happy?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes! If I could only be happy, always happy!”</p>
<p>“Think well. I can grant you that wish, if you really
wish it.”</p>
<p>“I wish I could be happy, always happy!”</p>
<p>“The wish is granted. You shall be happy; after this day
you shall be nothing but happy, always. It is done. The
chain is mine.”</p>
<p>“Oh, please! If you will only wait one moment! Just
one! I must call my mother!”</p>
<p>I ran to the door of the back room, and called my
mother. She came at once, alarmed by my outcry. Together
we turned back into the shop, toward the spot where
I had left the old man. He was gone.</p>
<p>I dragged my mother to the shop door, and we looked up
and down the street. There was no sign of him. I ran from
one corner to the other. He was nowhere in sight. I
returned to my mother and threw myself on her breast and
wept.</p>
<p>“The chain!” I sobbed. “It is gone!”</p>
<p>While she tried to comfort me I told her the story. She
wrung her hands. “What will your father say?”</p>
<p>That evening, when my father heard what had happened,
he was very angry. He was a kind man, but he
scolded me so severely that I crept up to bed weeping, without
any supper. I had never been so miserable. I cried myself
to sleep.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</SPAN></span>When I awoke in the morning, sunshine was streaming
in through the window. I sprang out of bed. A fat sparrow
was hopping on the window sill, and when he saw
me he cocked his head at me in the jolliest manner possible.
I whistled to him, and laughed after him as he flew
away.</p>
<p>While I was dressing, and humming a tune the while, I
suddenly remembered that I had gone to bed in tears for the
loss of my father’s golden chain; but I laughed as I thought
of it, for the loss seemed pitifully small, and my father’s
anger over it was quite ridiculous. I went on with my tune,
and stood before the mirror with a hairbrush in my hand.
I began to brush my hair; and I cannot deny that as I looked
at its yellow and somewhat curly abundance I thought of
the Princess with complacency.</p>
<p>Now it happened that the most serious work of my life,
on which I had then been engaged for more than six months,
had been the training of my hair to lie in a flat sweep backward
from my forehead. I had devoted much patient labor
to this work; it required that I should wear on my head all
day a tight skullcap, and I even suffered to the extent of
wearing it in bed at night, when I could do so without my
mother’s knowledge. I now shook my hair from my forehead
with a quick backward toss of the head, in a manner
which always made my father look at me in alarm, and
proceeded to brush it straight back with vigorous strokes
of the brush.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Three Black Hairs in the Yellow Head</i></h3>
<p>I was in the act of applying a small quantity of dry soap,
when I looked at my yellow head in the mirror a trifle more
attentively. My gaze became fixed; and as I held my head
close to the glass I was astonished to see there, among the
yellow strands, three coarse black hairs, very distinct, one
in the middle and one on either side.</p>
<p>They did not suit me very well, and I accordingly, with
some trouble, plucked each of them out by the root.</p>
<p>Before leaving the room, I gave a final glance of satisfaction
at myself in the mirror, and a final touch of the brush
to my hair. I stopped suddenly, fixed with astonishment;
the three long, coarse black hairs, which I had but a few
moments before plucked away, lay there as before, one in
the middle of my head and one on either side.</p>
<p>I could not understand it in the least, but after all, what
did it matter? I could not allow myself to be bothered by
such a trifle. I ran downstairs singing merrily.</p>
<p>At breakfast, I found myself prattling of a thousand
things, and I was surprised to remark the confusion with
which my parents received my sallies. In the midst of my
talk, my mother whispered with sudden excitement into my
father’s ear; I did not hear what she said, but I saw his
eyebrows rise and heard him blow out his lips in a long-drawn
“O-oh!” as if a light had dawned on him. And
after that they responded gayly to my chatter, and we had
altogether the merriest meal we had ever had in our lives.</p>
<p>After breakfast I accompanied my father to the castle,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</SPAN></span>
where I sought out the Princess Hyla, and found her weeping
beside one of the fountains in the garden, because her
ball had fallen into the water which filled the wide marble
basin. I laughed at her, for she did seem comical enough.
She stamped her foot angrily at me, but this only made me
laugh the more. I jumped into the pool and brought back
the ball. She looked at me as if in bewilderment, and cried,
“What are you laughing at? Are you crazy?” Far from being
offended, I laughed more merrily than before.</p>
<p>The King was much pleased with my little service to the
Princess, and after our departure my father assured me
that I had advanced markedly in the King’s regard. Everything,
in short, was going well.</p>
<p>From that day, my unfailing spirits rejoiced my parents
more and more as time went by; their house rang with my
merriment; my mother became more youthful in appearance;
and as I grew older I became known throughout our
city for the brightness of my face and the liveliness of my
talk, and I was everywhere in demand. It is true that the
three long black hairs continued in their places on my head,
and my mother looked at them at times, as it seemed to me,
with uneasiness; but I laughed at her; and although I sometimes
plucked these hairs from my head, I did so only for
the amusement of seeing them reappear in their places as
before.</p>
<h3><i>Alb Wins the Promise of the Princess’s Hand</i></h3>
<p>When I was sixteen years of age, a circumstance befell
which I was able to turn to good account. The Princess<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</SPAN></span>
Hyla one night unaccountably disappeared. The King was
strangely disturbed by this incident, and though I could not
quite understand the reason for so much perturbation, I resolved
to rescue the Princess and restore her to her father’s
arms, if I could. This I was able to do, in the course of a
very singular adventure, and in reward the King promised
me her hand in marriage. I will now relate to you, if you
wish it, the adventure by which I rescued the Princess from
the strange fate which involved her; it is the adventure, as
I may call it, of</p>
<h4>THE RAGPICKER AND THE PRINCESS</h4>
<p>It happened (said Alb the Fortunate) that the King, with
his daughter, sojourned for a time at his castle of Ventamere,
beside the Great Sea; and my father and myself, being
lodged in the town hard by,—</p>
<p><i>“On second thoughts,” said Solario, interrupting himself,
“I will not relate this tale just now. It is too long. It will
be better to go on with—”</i></p>
<p><i>“But we’d like to hear it now,” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“No,” said Solario, firmly, “it will be much better to tell
it some other time.”</i></p>
<p>Thus (said Alb, when he had finished the story of his
adventure), I restored the Princess, with the assistance of
the One-Armed Sorcerer whom I have mentioned, and in
gratitude the King took the One-Armed Sorcerer to dwell
with him in his castle in our own city, and promised to me
the hand of the Princess in marriage when I should come of
age. Truly things were going well with me.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>A Trifling Incident Disturbs Alb’s Mother</i></h3>
<p>Some two years later, when I was just past my eighteenth
birthday, an incident occurred in our household which
caused my mother much disturbance. My father died. He
had left the house on horseback in the morning, for a
journey to the country on a matter pertaining to his business.
In the evening, after the shop was closed, a loud knock
brought my mother and myself to the door in haste. A
crowd was gathered at the entrance, and on a litter carried
by two men lay my father’s body; and in this manner he was
borne into the shop. His horse had thrown him and his
neck was broken.</p>
<p>My mother threw herself upon him and wailed. She tried
to arouse him; she talked to him as if he were alive; she even
went so far as to try to call him back to life. I was at first
greatly astonished at her behavior, and then it struck me as
being excessively ridiculous. To think of trying to call
back the dead to life! It was highly amusing. I felt a tide
of merriment rising within me. I laughed.</p>
<p>I have never seen on any human being’s face the look
of horror which my mother turned on me when she heard
my laugh. She crouched away from me in fear. Her sobbing
ceased, and her eyes remained fixed on me; they grew
wider and wider; I began to wonder how long they could
stare so without winking. I glanced at the others in the
room, and was surprised to see that no one else even so much
as smiled. It was useless to remain longer in a company so
dead to the brighter things of life. I controlled my good<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</SPAN></span>
humor and composed my features, and patted my mother
affectionately on the shoulder; but she recoiled from my
touch; and without appearing to take her inconsiderate behavior
in ill part in the least, I left the room.</p>
<h3><i>Unreasonable Conduct of the Goldsmith’s Widow</i></h3>
<p>It astonished me afterward to observe that my mother
met my customary gayety with coldness, for she had always
seemed to take great pleasure in it. She grew very gloomy
indeed. I could not discover any reason for it, but I did
what I could to cheer her by my own liveliness. For some
reason or other, my father’s death appeared to have a depressing
effect on her. I made my jokes and sang my songs
as usual, but she reached such a state in a few months that
she would scarcely speak to me, but on the contrary spent
most of her time in her room, alone.</p>
<p>I noticed, in the course of time, a slight change in the
manner of my customers and friends. The former transacted
their business briefly, without an unnecessary word;
and the latter appeared to avoid me, as if they scarcely
wished to know me any longer. It was very amusing.</p>
<p>In less than a year after my father’s death, my mother
died. It was thought by some that my father’s death had
something to do with her decline, but how that could be I
never could understand.</p>
<h3><i>The Merrymakers Are Suddenly Sobered</i></h3>
<p>The night of the day on which she died was the night
fixed for a feast at the house of one of my friends. After<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</SPAN></span>
looking for a moment into the room where she lay, I dressed
myself carefully for the occasion, and found myself thrilled
with pleasant anticipation.</p>
<p>A large and merry company met at table at my friend’s
house; I talked in my best manner; and whatever coldness I
might have observed before was dispelled in the general
gayety. Toward the close of the banquet, I chanced to
remark across the table that my mother had that day died.
The effect of this remark was astonishing. As it passed
from one to another, silence fell upon the company.</p>
<p>I wondered if I had made some blunder. I endeavored
in vain to relieve the awkwardness of the moment by changing
the subject and commencing a story with which I had
never failed to provoke a laugh; but in this case it provoked
not so much as a smile; I was absolutely perplexed. The
party soon broke up in what appeared to be confusion,
and I went home to enjoy in my own room the recollection
of those lugubrious faces.</p>
<p>When I was twenty-one, I was married to the Princess,
and thenceforth the castle was my home. I sold the business
which my father had left me, and settled down to a life
of unbounded bliss with my dear Hyla, whom as a wife I
found even more adorable than I had dreamed.</p>
<p>I became the life of the castle. The faces of my new
acquaintances always brightened in my company; I was the
only one in that glittering society who never knew a dull
or uneasy moment; my presence was like a ray of sunshine
in the court.</p>
<p>I noticed after a while that the Princess, my wife, began<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</SPAN></span>
to respond to my constant gayety more carelessly; at times
she would sit and look at me wonderingly, I knew not why.</p>
<p>One day she asked me to accompany her on a little excursion
in the city. She did not tell me where she meant to go,
but I asked nothing; it was enough to be with her. I could
not conceal my surprise, however, when she stopped our carriage
at the entrance to the city’s poorest quarter; but I
had no doubt she had planned some pleasant diversion, and
I followed her, talking in my liveliest manner all the while.
She herself was quite silent.</p>
<p>She led me from one hovel to another, for more than an
hour. In one we saw a sick child lying on a pallet of straw
on a dirt floor, and around him his mother and sisters and
brothers, all weeping absurdly; I rallied the mother on it in
the pleasantest way possible, but she did not take it in very
good part. In another we found an old man, blind and
alone, without food and without wife or child, talking to
himself in a gibberish which was truly laughable; I tried,
for sport, to talk to him in the same sort of gibberish, but
though it was excellent sport, I saw that for some reason or
other it did not amuse my wife, so I led her away. In
another place we saw a man who was evidently overcome by
wine, and who appeared to be in terror of certain vipers
and spiders which, as I ascertained, existed nowhere but in
his own imagination. This man was the prize of the whole
collection; I amused myself with him for a long time; and
I was altogether so greatly diverted that the Princess had
some difficulty in dragging me away.</p>
<p>On the way home, I commented on what we had seen with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</SPAN></span>
a drollery which I had thought sufficient to draw a smile
from a stone; but the Princess was unmoved; she sat in
stony silence, and when we reached the castle she went at
once to her room, and I saw her no more that day.</p>
<p>Not long afterward, a beautiful boy was born to us; and
in course of time he grew to be the finest child of his age
in the Island Kingdom; there were many who said so, even
to his mother.</p>
<p>He was two years of age, when on a certain day in summer
his mother sent him into the gardens with a nurse, while
she remained with me in conversation in her room. Some
half hour later, I was telling her an amusing story, which
I had recently heard, when the door burst open, and a man-servant
rushed into the room carrying our boy, dripping
wet, in his arms, and laid him in his mother’s lap. The
child was dead. The nurse had left him beside the same
fountain pool from which years before I had rescued his
mother’s ball, and in her absence he had fallen into the
water. The Princess turned pale and screamed; she clasped
the child to her breast and rocked him back and forth; she
spoke to him as if he were still alive, and even tried to call
him back to life.</p>
<p>I smiled at her delusion. I put my hand on her shoulder
and shook her gently. She looked up at me with streaming
eyes, and saw the bright and smiling look on my own face.</p>
<p>“Come, my dear,” I said kindly, laughing quietly as I
spoke, “there is no use talking to him like that, you know.
You must be reasonable. The dear little fellow is dead, that
is all. Surely there is nothing in that to disturb you? Look<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</SPAN></span>
at me. I’m not disturbed. I can’t understand what you
find in this to bother you. Come, let the good man take him
away to another room, and I will go on with the story I was
telling when we were interrupted.”</p>
<p>She rose slowly, never taking her eyes from me, and
hugging the child closer backed away from me, and suddenly
turned and fled from the room. I smiled to myself at
the whimsical nature of women.</p>
<p>It was a long time before she would speak to me; and
although I did not permit this to ruffle me, I waited with
some impatience for her explanation. I was of course
reluctant to blame her too much without giving her an opportunity
of explaining her conduct. I was accordingly
pleased when she took me aside one day and asked to speak
with me in private. She sat down before me in her room
and looked me steadily in the eyes.</p>
<h3><i>The Princess Finds Her Husband Bewitched</i></h3>
<p>“Alb,” said she, “this can go on no longer. You are bewitched.”</p>
<p>I smiled indulgently. “I am not aware of it,” I said.</p>
<p>“Tell me,” she said, earnestly, “what are those three
black hairs in your head?”</p>
<p>“Oh, those! They are nothing. I found them there
after the old beggar had pretended to grant me a wish,
long ago.”</p>
<p>“What old beggar? Now I am learning something!
Tell me about the old beggar and the wish!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</SPAN></span>“What does it matter? He was a ragged old fellow,
with shaggy eyebrows, carrying a yardstick and tailor’s
shears, and I sold him a fine gold chain for a wish, and
right angry my father was, too. But I was only twelve
years old, you know.”</p>
<p>“Why have you never told me this before? What was
the wish?”</p>
<p>“The wish? Oh, I wished—I wished I might be perfectly
happy, always;—always happy;—a pretty good wish,
I think.”</p>
<p>“A terrible wish! A frightful wish! Tell me—tell me—have
you ever wept since you were twelve years old?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. How absurd. There has never been
anything for me to weep about.”</p>
<p>“That’s it! That’s it! That’s the curse! You can’t
weep! You’ve got to be cured of happiness! Cured of
happiness!”</p>
<p>This idea was so preposterous that I laughed loud and
long; but while I was still laughing she took me by the
hand and led me into a distant part of the castle, where I
had never been before, until we came to the foot of a
narrow, winding stair in a tall tower.</p>
<p>We climbed the stairs, and stopped at last, panting, on
a little landing before a door. The Princess knocked, and
without waiting for an answer opened the door and drew
me in after her. We were in a small, circular room, evidently
at the very top of the tower, from the windows
of which I could see far across the city and beyond the
distant mountains to the Great Sea.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>Alb and the Princess Visit the One-Armed Sorcerer</i></h3>
<p>In the center of this room was a spinning wheel, and
before this spinning wheel was the One-Armed Sorcerer
whom I had met in the adventure which had gained me
the Princess for my wife; a spare old man, with bright blue
eyes in a rosy face and long white hair and beard, and
clothed in a blue gown spangled with silver stars. He
rose, smiling at us kindly, and motioning us with his only
hand (his left) to sit down; and when we were seated,
the Princess told him the story of the old vagabond who
had granted me a wish.</p>
<p>He nodded understandingly, and the Princess said: “We
have come to you for help. Will you help him get rid
of his curse?”</p>
<p>I laughed merrily. “I’m pretty well satisfied as I am,” I
said. “I don’t wish to be cured of anything.”</p>
<p>“And yet,” said the One-Armed Sorcerer, “you ought to
want to be cured. Your trouble is, that you can’t weep.
Let me tell you something. When people can weep, it’s
because there’s some good in them. When they can’t
weep, it’s because all the good in them is frozen up hard.
Nobody can weep all the time, any more than anybody can
be happy all the time, unless it’s a bewitched creature like
yourself. I’m not sure which would be worse, to weep
all the time or to be happy all the time; but one thing I’m
sure of, and that is that it’s best for us all to have a little
weeping and a little happiness, sometimes the one and
sometimes the other, woven together in all shades of light<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</SPAN></span>
and dark; and if you want to come out in a beautiful pattern
at last, there’s no other way to do it. Laugh and
weep; weep and laugh; that’s the whole story, and a fine
story it is too, and well worth having a part in.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” cried the Princess, who was now weeping softly,
“will you help him to have a part in it like the rest of us?”</p>
<p>“I’m very comfortable as I am,” said I, smiling.</p>
<p>“Do you know,” said the Princess, “how to cure him?”</p>
<p>“I can tell him how to cure himself,” said the sorcerer.</p>
<p>“Then please tell us at once!” said the Princess.</p>
<p>“There is danger in it,” said the sorcerer.</p>
<p>“Danger doesn’t bother me,” said I, beginning to take
an interest.</p>
<p>“Good,” said the sorcerer. “Then I will tell you. Have
you ever heard of the half-moon pasture of Korbi, by the
river Tarn?”</p>
<p>Neither of us had ever heard of it.</p>
<p>“It lies far beyond the Great Sea. Would you like
to make a journey there?”</p>
<p>“That would be jolly!” I cried.</p>
<p>“The half-moon pasture of Korbi is the end of your
journey, where you will get rid of the third black hair,
and be cured.”</p>
<p>“What?” I cried in astonishment.</p>
<p>“Yes, the third of the three black hairs in your head.”</p>
<p>I had forgotten all about them. Certainly this was a
knowing old sorcerer.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Old Man of Ice, the Laughing Nymph, and the Great Horned Owl</i></h3>
<p>“I will tell you,” he went on, “what those three black
hairs are. The one on the left side of your head is the
Old Man of Ice, who lives in the Great Cave near the top
of Thunder Mountain, in this very island. The one on the
right side of your head is the Laughing Nymph who lives
in the Three-Spire Rock on the farther shore of the Great
Sea. The one in the middle of your head is the Great
Horned Owl, whose feathers are scales so hard that no
spear can pierce them, and who lives at the top of the cliff
at the far side of the half-moon pasture of Korbi. You
must not touch the Old Man of Ice. You must not laugh
with the Laughing Nymph. And you must not speak when
you see the Great Horned Owl.”</p>
<p>“I don’t like this very much,” said the Princess.</p>
<p>“Nonsense, my dear,” said I. “It sounds very exciting.”</p>
<p>“Do you know what a burning glass is?” went on the
sorcerer.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said I.</p>
<p>He went to a chest beside the wall, and took from it a
small, round, thick piece of glass, and placed it in my left
hand.</p>
<p>“There is only one thing that can destroy the Old Man
of Ice, and that is a hot beam from the sun. Before you
go into his cave, hold this burning glass with your left
hand up to the sun. The rays it catches will remain in
it for seven minutes, and no longer; and if you can then<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</SPAN></span>
within those seven minutes, holding the glass in your left
hand, fix those rays on the Old Man of Ice, he will be
destroyed, and you will get rid of the black hair on the
left side of your head.”</p>
<p>He went to his chest again, and returning put into my
left hand a sharp brass pin, some three inches in length.</p>
<p>“With this pin,” he said, “you must make the Laughing
Nymph weep. You must plunge it, with your left
hand, deep into her left arm, and while she is weeping
you must flee away; and thus you will get rid of the black
hair on the right side of your head. But if you laugh
with her, or remain until she stops weeping, you will never
return.”</p>
<p>He took from his spinning wheel a thread some yard
and a half long, and holding it in his teeth made fast a
large loop at one end. He then placed the thread in my
left hand.</p>
<p>“This loop,” he said, “you must throw over the head
of the Great Horned Owl with your left hand. When
you have done so, he will follow you; you must lead him
into the river Tarn, and hold him there until he drowns;
and thus you will get rid of the black hair in the middle
of your head, and be cured forever. But the owl, though
he is blind by day, has very sharp ears. You must not
let him hear your voice.”</p>
<h3><i>The Burning Glass, the Brass Pin, and the Loop of Thread</i></h3>
<p>He then gave me the most minute directions how to
reach the Great Cave, the Three-Spire Rock, and the half-moon<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</SPAN></span>
pasture of Korbi; and I thereupon placed in my pocket
the burning glass, the pin, and the thread, and drew the
Princess after me to the door and down to my room, where
I immediately began my preparations for departure.</p>
<p>That night I left. The Princess wept on my shoulder,
but I laughed gayly, and ridiculed her fears.</p>
<p>“Don’t you feel sorry,” she said, “to leave me?”</p>
<p>“Come, dearest,” I said, “you mustn’t begrudge me a
little adventure. Don’t be selfish.”</p>
<p>She straightened herself up. “Yes,” she said, “I think
you had better go.”</p>
<p>I did not understand this sudden change, but I kissed
her and said:</p>
<p>“Did you pack my white leather suit?”</p>
<p>“Yes, it is in the saddlebag, and extra shoes. Be sure
to change if you get your feet wet.”</p>
<p>I kissed my hand to her from the saddle and gave my
horse the rein. I was off upon my adventure.</p>
<p>At the end of two days I came to the village which
lies at the foot of Thunder Mountain. It was a bright
day, and the sun was hot. As I trotted briskly through
the village street, a child of three or four years ran from
the door of a house directly to the front of my horse and
under its feet; and in an instant the horse had knocked
him down and trampled over his body. I looked round,
and heard the child cry out in pain; but I was intent on
what lay before me, and too happy in my new career to
be bothered with trifles, and I sped on rapidly, and was
soon well up the mountainside.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</SPAN></span>I came to a place among the rocks and bushes where
there was no longer any trail, and there I tied my horse
and left him. I kept in view, as I climbed higher and
higher, a great, gray rock, shaped like a dome and as big
as a house, which projected from the very top of the
mountain. Under this rock, as I knew, lay the cave of the
Man of Ice.</p>
<p>The higher I climbed, the steeper grew the ascent; trees
became fewer and at length there were none; I looked
abroad and saw, beyond the intervening mountains, the
Great Sea afar off, wrinkling in the sunshine. I came at last
to a point so high that I was quite dizzy when I looked down.
Around me were only bowlders; there were not even any
bushes, nor birds nor squirrels; nothing but rocks and sunshine.</p>
<h3><i>He Hears Thunder in a Clear Sky</i></h3>
<p>I stopped suddenly and listened. A distant rumble of
thunder came from the top of the mountain. I was, as
I may say, thunderstruck; for there was not a cloud in the
sky. As I mounted higher, the rolling of thunder became
louder and louder; and when I reached, as I did
at last after hours of toil, the dome-shaped rock at the
top, thunder crashed all about me with a deafening roar,
although the sky remained as clear as before.</p>
<p>I halted at the foot of the great rock, and commenced
the task of finding the entrance to the cave. The surface
of the rock seemed quite unbroken; but I found at length,
near the ground, a single crack, about an inch in width.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</SPAN></span>
I inserted my fingers, but I could not budge it; and remembering
the directions given me by the sorcerer, I cried
out, “In the name of the sun! I command you, open!”</p>
<p>The rock beneath the crack began to move, and before
my astonished eyes it fell slowly inward, leaving a
gaping hole, just wide enough to admit my body.</p>
<p>I did not delay. I took the burning glass from my pocket
and held it up in my left hand to the sun, and when I
thought it well filled with the sun’s rays I crawled in
through the hole. When I was inside, the opening closed
behind me, and I was in utter darkness. It was very cold,
and the noise of thunder was louder than before. I
was surprised to see at a little distance a single spot of
light, which flickered here and there as I crept on; but I
soon observed that it came from the burning glass which
I was still holding in my left hand.</p>
<h3><i>He Goes Down into the Cave in Thunder Mountain</i></h3>
<p>I was aware that I was going downward. The farther
I went, the louder became the thunder. I must have descended
thus for a minute or two, when a gust of cold
air swept my face, and, finding the floor level, I stood
up. The sound of thunder was now deafening, beyond
anything I had yet heard.</p>
<p>As I stood there, a great mass of what appeared to
be ice, larger than my body, rolled past me and disappeared
in the darkness. I jumped aside, and walked on.
In another moment a mass of ice like the first fell at
my side and rolled away; a rush of the bitterest cold air<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</SPAN></span>
accompanied it; and as it struck the ground a crash of thunder
shook the place, and its sound, as it rolled away into
the dark, was the sound of thunder rumbling afar off among
the mountains.</p>
<p>I now understood the origin of the thunder I had heard
in the clear sunlight outside. I pointed my burning glass
upward, and I was able to make out dimly, in the ceiling,
great numbers of these bodies of ice, hanging there like
stalactites, but rounded at the bottom and very slender
at the top, so that they appeared to hang by little more
than a thread. As I stumbled on, one after another of
these fell to the ground with a crash and rolled away
with a decreasing rumble. There was no telling when one
of them might fall on me, and I could only trust to luck.
There was nothing to do but to get forward as quickly
as possible; time was flying, and even if I should escape
these thunder stones, I had only three or four minutes of
my seven left. I darted blindly on, and the ice came crashing
about me faster and faster, until I thought my head
would split with the noise. Once or twice I was nearly
struck. How I escaped I do not know, for it became
certain that the thunder stones were dropping closer and
closer around me, as if they were trying to halt me. And
all the time the cold was becoming so bitter that my feet
and legs were already numb.</p>
<p>I suddenly found myself walking on a slippery film of
ice, and at that moment I knew that I had cleared the
chamber of thunder, and had left that danger behind me;
the noise abated to a distant rumbling.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</SPAN></span>The ice on which I walked was very thin, and at every
step it crackled under me; and I could just make out the
sound of the rushing beneath it of a torrent of water. I
stepped lightly and quickly, seeing nothing but the blackness
of night before me. I ran. The ice swayed and
crackled and ripped; and just as it gave way under me
and my foot plunged in the freezing water, I found myself
again on the solid floor of the cavern, and ran with
all my might. I could see nothing of walls or ceiling. I
was lost in the dark.</p>
<p>In another moment I was aware of a kind of vague paleness
afar off before me, and I ran in that direction. As I
did so, the paleness, whatever it was, moved swiftly to
the right, and I changed my course accordingly. It then
moved to the left, and as fast as I changed my course
it moved also; evidently it was trying to avoid me. I
gained on it, and it seemed then to try to pass me on one
side and get in my rear; but I was too quick for it, and
came up with it before it had quite passed me. I came
within ten feet of it, and saw what it was.</p>
<h3><i>He Pursues the Man of Ice with the Burning Glass</i></h3>
<p>It was the Man of Ice. He was running about like a
cornered rat: a perfectly formed old man, his face and
head hairless, and his whole body of solid ice. He ran
jerkily; I could hear his joints crackle as he ran; and he
was almost transparent, and of a pale, greenish brightness.
His fingers were stiff and pointed, like icicles; and
his eyes were like little white marbles.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</SPAN></span>When he found that he could not pass me, he ran back
into the cave; but we were evidently near its rear wall,
and in a moment he was darting back and forth against
this wall, for all the world like a cornered rat. I kept after
him, and flashing the burning glass constantly in his direction
forced him at last into a corner. He turned upon
me there, and stretched out his long stiff fingers and made
as if to spring upon me. I knew that if he should touch
me I should be lost; it must be now or never; I turned the
burning glass full upon him, and before he could spring its
little spot of light flickered upon the center of his breast.</p>
<p>The change which came over him nearly caused me to
drop the glass. The top of his head melted away before
my eyes and dripped down over his ears; his eyes, his
nose, his cheeks, his chin, turned one after another to
water and flowed down over his shoulders, and as I moved
the beam of sunlight lower and lower he slowly melted
away from shoulder to foot, and was no more than a wet
spot on the floor.</p>
<h3><i>He Commences to Make His Escape from the Cave</i></h3>
<p>I turned swiftly to make my way out of the cave. As
I did so the light from my burning glass went out, and
the cave was suddenly flooded with pure sunlight, from
what source I could not make out. I was in a vast, vaulted
chamber, which I did not remain to examine. I sped to a
wide opening which I saw before me, and passing through
it came to the side of a little brook bordered with golden-yellow
flowers. I waded across the brook; its water was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</SPAN></span>
as warm as milk. On the other side I entered the thunder
chamber, now well lit with sunshine, and there I paused
in amazement. It was in perfect silence. The air was
mild and balmy. In place of the terrible stones of ice,
thick green vines clung to the ceiling. I gave a shout of
joy, and ran to a little opening which I saw on the farther
side. Through this I crawled, and on my hands and knees
ascended the passage down which I had first come, and
arrived at the entrance to the cave, now closed. “Open!”
I shouted. “In the name of the sun, I command you,
open!” The rock fell outward, and I crawled through
into the light of day.</p>
<p>I had gone quite a mile down the mountainside before
I realized that there was no sound of thunder; I looked
up at the top of the mountain and paused to listen; all
was silent, sunny, and peaceful. I had accomplished my
first adventure with complete success.</p>
<p>When I reached the village at the foot of the mountain,
my first thought was of the child whom my horse had injured
earlier in the day. I dismounted, and after a few
moments’ inquiry found where he lived. I was admitted
to the house by his mother, who led me to an inner room,
where I beheld on a chair by a window an unusually charming
little fellow, with his left arm in a splint. I sat down
before him and took him on my lap and held him carefully
in my arms. He took to me at once; and I was
pleased to feel, as his warm little body pressed close to
me, a decided warmth creep slowly and gently into my
own heart. I forced the mother, who was poor, to accept<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</SPAN></span>
from me the only amends I could make: a purse of gold
from my belt, bestowed with a warm shake of the hand.
As I said good-by, I glanced at the mirror which hung
upon the wall. I went up to it, and looked more intently.
The black hair which had been on the left side of my
head was gone.</p>
<p>I pressed on the same night, and arrived in due time
at the town of Ventamere, on the shore of the Great Sea.
I bought a boat, not too large to be handled by a single
man, and rigged with a single sail of a charming orange
color, somewhat patched with blue.</p>
<p>Like all the islanders, I knew well how to manage a
boat, and I could see that my little bark was entirely sea-worthy.
I provisioned her for a long voyage, being mindful,
of course, of the return. With a light and favorable
wind above and an ebbing tide, I set sail.</p>
<h3><i>He Sails Across the Great Sea</i></h3>
<p>As I cleared the bay and encountered the long, smooth
roll of the Great Sea, I thought, sitting with my hand on
the tiller, of the dear Princess whom I had left behind
me. I remembered that I had charged her with selfishness,
and I began to doubt whether I had been altogether
just. For the first time within my memory, I felt a little
uneasy on the subject of my own conduct. However, this
shadow lasted only a moment. I sang as I sailed.</p>
<p>The weather was superb, and the sea, under moderate
winds, never rose above a long and quiet swell. During
the entire voyage there was nothing more exciting than<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</SPAN></span>
an occasional gull on easy wing circling about the peak of
my mast, and the flying fish now and then skimming low
across the surface of the sea.</p>
<p>As I neared the far shore of the Great Sea, the green
of the water became a deep indigo, and I could not but
rejoice in the lovely effect amidst that expanse of rich color
of the orange of my sail. I had held the course prescribed
by the sorcerer, and I knew that I should pick
up the Three-Spire Rock on sighting land.</p>
<p>It came to pass as I expected. My faithful boat slipped,
early of a luminous evening, into the placid waters of a
little bay. On either hand a promontory of noble height
jutted out into the sea, and from the shallow water near
the shore, against the inmost curve of the beach, rose in
three pinnacles a great, black rock, washed by a gentle
and surfless tide, and towering above as tall as the masts
of a ship: the Three-Spire Rock, beyond a doubt.</p>
<p>I ran my boat almost up to the beach, the tide being
at flood, and anchored there. I put on my fine white
leather suit, as being suitable for the visit I had now to
make, and waded ashore with a line which for further
security I made fast to a log partly imbedded in the sand.
I then climbed upon the shoreward side of the Three-Spire
Rock, and began my search for the Laughing Nymph.</p>
<p>I examined every inch of that side of the rock as far
as I could climb, without finding any sign of an opening.
I made my way slowly around the rock to the seaward
side, examining it carefully as I went, still without success.
I reached the outer side of the rock in despair.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</SPAN></span>The light of day was fast waning, and I would soon be
forced to give up my search for the night. The water,
which swelled and receded noiselessly about the rock, became
black and unfriendly. It was very lonesome. Not
a gull nor curlew nor sandpiper could be seen anywhere.
The place was too silent altogether. I pressed along the
seaward face of the rock.</p>
<p>Before me, at a little distance, the tide had filled to
the brim a sort of bowl in the rock, open toward the bay,
in which the water stood some five or six feet deep. I
came to this bowl and paused to select the best way for
clambering round it. I looked down into the still water
which filled it, and saw there a sight which almost made
my heart stop beating.</p>
<h3><i>He Finds a Child in a Pool of the Rock</i></h3>
<p>Floating there was the body of a drowned child. I gave
a cry of pity and stooped down to look at him. It was
a naked boy of some two years, exceedingly beautiful. I
stooped lower and gazed into his upturned face. It was
the face of my own child.</p>
<p>It could not be; I had myself seen him, with my own
eyes, far from here, in his mother’s arms, many months
ago,—and yet, the longer I gazed upon him, the more
certainly I knew that it was my own child. I could not
be deceived. I leaned down closer and put my arms under
him and drew him up and folded him to my breast.
He was cold and wet, but beautiful beyond anything I had
ever dreamed of him. I stood up, and held his cheek<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</SPAN></span>
against my own. It seemed to me I had never known
until this moment how dear he had been to me. I leaned,
almost fainting, against the face of the rock, and rested
his fair round body in my arm for a moment against a
smooth shelf in the wall. His little shoulder lightly touched
the rock; and where it touched, a slight depression seemed
to appear, as if the rock had been a cushion. As I looked,
the depression grew deeper and wider; it deepened and
widened until it became a hollow vault, in which I could
see nothing but darkness.</p>
<p>Holding the fair boy close to my breast, I stepped into
the dark vault, and walked carefully forward toward the
interior of the rock. In a moment the passage made a
turn to the right, and I found myself in a brightly lighted
room with a peaked ceiling, very lofty, whose floor and
walls were all of mother-of-pearl. In sconces on the walls
were hundreds of burning candles, and divans and chairs
covered with the richest silks were ranged beneath them.
A door in the opposite wall stood open, and I entered
through this another room of the same kind, with peaked
ceiling, candles, mother-of-pearl, and all. As I stood in
this room I heard the tinkling of a musical instrument and
the singing of a voice. A door stood open opposite me
as before, and through this I entered a third room, precisely
like the others, and stopped in amazement. There,
on a divan against the wall, under a blaze of candles, sat
my wife.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Laughing Nymph in the Three-Spired Rock</i></h3>
<p>She was singing gayly and accompanying her song upon
a lute. When she saw me she laughed merrily and bade
me sit down beside her. I remained standing where I was,
doubting whether I had lost my senses, and hugging the
beautiful child to my breast. There was no mistake. It
was my wife indeed. I forgot for the moment the strangeness
of the encounter, and went to her and held out the
child.</p>
<p>“See!” I cried. “Have done with laughing! Your
child! He is drowned! I have brought him to you!
See!”</p>
<p>She looked at me with such merriment in her face as
I had never seen there before. She laughed again and
again. I thought she would never have done laughing.
I was petrified with horror.</p>
<p>“Stop!” I cried. “I must make you understand me! It
is your child! Do you understand? Can you look at him
and laugh? For shame, for shame!”</p>
<p>She calmed her laughter somewhat.</p>
<p>“Why, what is there in that,” she said, “to make me
weep? If you only knew how ridiculous you look! Oh,
dear!” And she went off into a peal of laughter gayer
than before.</p>
<p>“Take him!” I said. “Look down at that little face,
and smile again if you dare!” And I laid him in her lap.</p>
<p>She took him up carelessly and placed him out of her
way on the divan.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</SPAN></span>“Really,” she said, “you mustn’t expect to disturb me
with these things. I was singing a lovely new song when
you came in. Listen!” And she took the lute in her
hands and began to sing a stave of her song.</p>
<p>I felt a wave of anger rise within me. I rushed upon
her blindly and tore the lute from her hands and dashed
it on the floor. I seized her shoulders and shook her
violently; and the more violently I shook her the more
she laughed. I bethought me of the pin which lay in
my pocket, and at the same time there flashed into my mind
what the sorcerer had said about the Laughing Nymph;
I had quite forgotten them both. I snatched the pin
forth from my pocket with my left hand, and closing my
eyes plunged it deep into the left arm of the Laughing
Nymph.</p>
<p>She did not scream with pain, but her laughter instantly
ceased. She looked at me with surprise, as if she were
now seeing me for the first time. An expression of
reproachful sorrow came over her face; tears started
into her eyes and rolled down her cheeks; and suddenly
she buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly.
She arose, and threw herself on her knees beside the child
and called to him wildly, sobbing as if her heart would
break.</p>
<p>I looked on for a moment with my brain in a whirl. A
strong impulse of love and pity moved me to put my arm
around her and comfort her; but I restrained myself, and
in that moment I saw what it all meant; I left the Laughing
Nymph still weeping beside the child, and fled.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Second Black Hair Is Gone</i></h3>
<p>Outside, on the beach, under the stars, I collected my
disordered wits. I went to the little cabin in my boat, and
gazed at myself in the mirror which hung upon its wall.
My eyes were unnaturally large and hollow; my cheeks
were pale; and the black hair which had been on the right
side of my head was gone.</p>
<p>I gathered together such provisions as I could carry,
and seeing that the boat was well secured, I departed
upon my third and last adventure.</p>
<p>Many days I traveled. The sorcerer had given me my
course with much particularity, and there was no question
of losing my way. My thoughts were sad company, and
yet I felt a kind of elation. I began to look back on myself
with horror, and to remember the sweetness of my
Princess with admiration and love.</p>
<p>One morning I ascended a long wooded hill and stood
upon its top. Below me, at no great distance, lay a river,
curved at this point outward like a crescent. On its farther
side stretched a field some two miles deep, grown high
with grass and flowers, and bounded at its rear by a high
cliff whose walls at either end met the river, enclosing the
field so that its shape, between them and the river, was
roughly that of a half-moon. It was, without a doubt,
the pasture of Korbi, beside the river Tarn. The time for
my last adventure had arrived.</p>
<p>I descended rapidly to the river, first leaving my pack
in a safe place, and waded across the stream; it came to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</SPAN></span>
my shoulders, but I had no difficulty in reaching the other
side. I pressed forward through the tall grass to the
foot of the cliff. I walked along its base until I found
above me on its face, somewhat higher than my reach, a
circle of white stones; and by this I knew that it was at
this point that I must climb.</p>
<p>The ascent was excessively difficult. I mounted, with
great pain, to a point so high that I no longer dared
look below; I fixed my eyes on each crevice and cranny
as they appeared above me, and tried to think of nothing
but my next step upward. I was nearing the top. I looked
up, and saw directly overhead a great bowlder which projected
from the face of the cliff, evidently at its very summit.
This was the bowlder of which the sorcerer had spoken
as the abode of the Great Horned Owl. A dozen more
painful steps brought me to the under side of the bowlder.
I clung to the cliff with both hands, and without a sound
crept along its face until I was out from under the bowlder
on its left side, and then climbed noiselessly upward until
I stood beside the bowlder so as to look across its top.
There I saw, at my right, the object of my search.</p>
<h3><i>The Great Horned Owl Stands Ready for the Loop of Thread</i></h3>
<p>The Great Horned Owl was standing motionless, his
wide eyes staring across the valley of the Tarn. I was
thankful that in that bright light of the sun he was blind.
He did not turn his head in my direction, and he was
evidently unaware of my presence. His feathers, as I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</SPAN></span>
could see, were flakes or scales of some shining metal.
He looked harmless enough, and I felt myself full of confidence.</p>
<p>The hand which was nearest him was my right. Holding
on to the cliff with my left, I took from my pocket,
with my right, the thread which the sorcerer had given me,
and cleared the loop so that I could drop it over the creature’s
head without tangling. I leaned across the bowlder
toward him, keeping very quiet, and brought my right
hand with the loop so close to him that I could have touched
him. With that hand I held the loop above his head and
began to lower it. It came down closer and closer; it
reached the top of his head; I held my breath; my eyes
were fixed on his; I lowered the loop another inch or two,
until it came to his curved beak, without touching him;
and I was about to drop it over his neck,—when suddenly
he flapped his wings and fluttered his feathers all together;
and all the little metal plates on his body striking one another
gave off a rattling discharge of sharp reports, so
violent that I thought the cliff was being blown to pieces.
I jumped with fright, and scarcely refrained from uttering
a cry; but I held my tongue, and dropped the loop around
his neck.</p>
<p>Instantly the metal feathers were still and the noise
ceased, and the owl turned his head slowly toward me
and stared straight into my face; and as he gazed at me,
all at once it came to me that I had dropped the noose
with my right hand instead of my left. I was aghast at
my mistake. I tugged at the thread frantically, but the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</SPAN></span>
owl did not budge. I began to grow dizzy. My arm
tingled and grew numb. Everything turned black before
my eyes. I could not remember where I was. I swayed
and lost my balance; I felt myself falling; I clutched wildly
for support, but touched nothing; I felt myself falling
through space, falling, falling, as a person falls in a dream,
for hours as it seemed, sick and dizzy. Only once did I
touch anything, and then I felt in my knee a sharp pain,
and was conscious that I was bleeding from a cut; and then
I knew no more.</p>
<p>When I came to myself, I was standing at the foot
of the cliff, where I had commenced my ascent. I looked
upward, and wondered that I was alive after such a fall.
As my eye traveled downward and rested on the circle
of white stones above me I noticed in their center a little
splotch of blood, evidently from my knee where it had
been cut in my fall; and as I continued to look, the splotch
grew into a blood-red flower, waving on a long stem. I
felt a strange desire to take the flower in my teeth and
tear it.</p>
<h3><i>Alb Sees in the River the Reflection of a Unicorn</i></h3>
<p>I wondered whether anything had happened to the hair
in the middle of my head. I went to the river, and looked
down at myself in a clear pool near the bank. I was surprised
to see there the reflection of a small white horse’s
head. I turned round, to see the animal which must have
been looking over my shoulder. No animal was there. I
could not understand it. I looked again at the surface of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</SPAN></span>
water; the same head met my gaze; a small white horse’s
head, and in the center of it a sharp, white horn. I looked
behind me again, and again into the river. I stood in
the water, and saw there the full image of the little white
horse. It was myself.</p>
<p>Thus (said the young man, sitting in the half-moon
pasture of Korbi, by the river Tarn), you know my story.
I have kept count of the days since my enchantment, and
they now amount to two years; the age of my little son
when he was drowned. You have taken from me the third
black hair, and I shall now fly back to my beloved Princess,
cured of the curse of perpetual happiness, to spend with
her the remainder of my days in blessed light and shadow,
peace and storm, laughter and tears.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p><i>“I wonder,” said Bojohn thoughtfully, after a moment’s
silence, “who the old man was who gave him the curse in
the first place.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Did Alb tell you,” said Bodkin, “who the old man
was?”</i></p>
<p><i>“No,” said Solario; “I don’t believe he ever knew. But I
happen to know, myself, because it was revealed to me in
the course of the story which was told me by—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Tell us! Tell us!” cried the two boys.</i></p>
<p><i>“No,” said Solario, “it is much too late, and I must
now, if you will permit me, bid you good night.”</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_073.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE THIRD NIGHT<br/> <small>THE SON OF THE TAILOR OF OOGH</small></h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><i>THE King was engaged with the Master of the
Wardrobe in a game of chess in the throne room,
and the Princess Dorobel (the King’s daughter)
and her husband Prince Bilbo were looking on.</i></p>
<p><i>In the next room the Queen was at dominoes with the
Second Lady in Waiting, and Prince Bojohn (her grandson)
and his friend Bodkin came and stood behind their
chairs.</i></p>
<p><i>“Grandmother,” said Bojohn, “wouldn’t you like to
hear a story?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Not now, my dear,” said the Queen, and she put down
a double five, smiling at the Lady in Waiting.</i></p>
<p><i>“Come along, then,” said Bojohn to Bodkin. They went
into the throne room, and stood behind the King’s chair.</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</SPAN></span><i>“Grandfather,” said Bojohn, “wouldn’t you like to hear
a story?”</i></p>
<p><i>“You made a fatal mistake in moving your knight,” said
The King. “I will now move my bishop and put you in
check. So!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Grandfather!” said Bojohn. “Wouldn’t you like
to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Take your time, take your time,” said the King. “If
you move out of check, I’ll have you in three moves. See
if I don’t!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Grandfather!” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Ah!” said the King. “That’s different. Hum. Ha.
I didn’t think you’d do that. Plague take it, now I’ve got
to think up something else.”</i></p>
<p><i>The Princess Dorobel placed her arm around the shoulder
of Bojohn her son. She was radiant in a white evening
gown, and she wore pearls in her hair.</i></p>
<p><i>“Never mind, my dear,” said she, “</i>I’d <i>like to hear a
story.”</i></p>
<p><i>“And father too!” said Bojohn. “Come along, both
of you!”</i></p>
<p><i>The Princess Dorobel put her arm in her husband’s, and
hurried him away after the two boys, who were already
going out at the door.</i></p>
<p><i>They followed the boys through dark halls and up a
staircase into the northeast tower, and stopped, all four,
before the door of Solario’s room. Prince Bojohn knocked,
and a voice from within bade them enter.</i></p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_074fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">Mortimer the Executioner was being measured by Solario for a suit</p>
<p><i>Mortimer the Executioner, seven feet tall and vast as a</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</SPAN></span>
<i>hogshead around the middle, was standing in his shirt
sleeves beside the table, and before him stood Solario on a
chair, measuring him with a tape. On the table lay a pile of
cloth, with shears, chalk, needles, thread, and wax.</i></p>
<p><i>Solario jumped down from his chair and bowed. He was
plainly in high good humor.</i></p>
<p><i>“Be seated, be seated, I pray you,” he cried, bringing up
chairs in a hurry. “This is a great honor; a very great
honor indeed. You see me in the midst of my— Pray
be seated. Will you excuse me while I note down the shoulder
measurement?” He bent over the table, and jotted
down some figures in a book. “Mortimer,” said he, “you
may go now. We will continue our labors in the morning.”</i></p>
<p><i>Mortimer, in confusion, hastily put on his coat, which
caused a couple of white mice to jump from his pockets and
run up his sleeves.</i></p>
<p><i>“Don’t go,” said the Princess Dorobel. “We are about
to ask our good friend Solario for a story, and I am sure
you would like to hear it.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Yes,” said Prince Bilbo, “we have come to hear another
story, if you will be good enough to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“The story of Montesango’s Cave!” cried both boys,
together.</i></p>
<p><i>“Or the Roving Griffin!” cried Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Or the Blind Giant!” cried Bodkin.</i></p>
<p><i>“If you will pardon me,” said Solario, “I think that it
would please Prince Bilbo and the Princess better, perhaps,
to hear the story told me by the Black Prince on the memorable
night when—”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</SPAN></span><i>“Don’t forget,” said Bodkin, “we want to hear about
the old man with the shaggy eyebrows, who got the golden
chain away from the goldsmith’s son.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I will tell you,” said Solario, “about the old man and
about the Black Prince at the same time.”</i></p>
<p><i>“We know nothing,” said Prince Bilbo, “about any old
man with shaggy eyebrows.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I’ll tell you, father!” said Bojohn; and he told what he
knew. “Now then!” he said to Solario. “Please go on!”</i></p>
<p><i>Solario the tailor seated himself cross-legged on his table,
and the others drew up their chairs before him in a row.</i></p>
<p><i>“Has the old man with the shaggy eyebrows,” said Prince
Bilbo, “something to do with the Black Prince?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Precisely, sir,” said Solario. “If you are ready, I will
relate to you the story which the Black Prince told me on
the memorable night when— However. Are you ready?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Dear me!” said the Princess Dorobel. “This is very
cozy, indeed.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario, picking up his
shears and gazing at them thoughtfully for a moment, began,
in the following words,</i></p>
<h4>THE STORY OF THE BLACK PRINCE</h4>
<p>You must know, most excellent Solario (said the Black
Prince) that my father, the King of Wen, called me to
him one morning, and taking me into his private cabinet,
spoke to me as follows.</p>
<p>“My son,” said he, “you are aware what anxiety I have
suffered, throughout my reign, regarding my city of Oogh,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</SPAN></span>
by reason of its remoteness from my castle. I have, as
you know, been unable to visit it since my early youth.
It is now some four years since I sent to that city, to govern
it in my stead, our friend Urban, so well-beloved among
us for his unfailing courtesy.”</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p><i>“Oh!” said Bojohn. “That must be the Courteous
Stranger.” Solario said, “Precisely.”</i></p>
<p>“For many months,” continued my father, the King of
Wen, “I have had no word from him, and I fear that some
misfortune has befallen him. I design therefore, my son,
to send you to the city of Oogh, to find out what is wrong,
and if necessary to lend him aid. It will be best for you
to enter the city without making yourself known. Your
mission may be dangerous, and I accordingly wish you to
wear this doublet, which will protect you against all harm
so long as it remains intact. I know of no power which
can remove it from your person, or detach from it even a
single button; but I warn you to be careful, for any injury
to it will deprive it of all virtue, and the consequences
to you in that case might be serious. Take the doublet
from me with your left hand, and I will tell you how I
came into possession of it.”</p>
<p>Thereupon my father with his left hand placed the
doublet in my left hand, and commenced</p>
<h4>THE STORY OF THE MAGIC DOUBLET</h4>
<p>“When I was a young man,” said my father,—</p>
<p><i>“Please excuse me, Solario,” said Prince Bilbo; “don’t</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</SPAN></span>
<i>you think it might be better to go on with the main story,
without stopping to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Really, I think it would,” said the Princess Dorobel.</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, mother!” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“If it is your pleasure,” said Solario, “I will omit the
story of the magic doublet for the present.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I really think it would be better,” said the Princess
Dorobel.</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, shucks,” said Bojohn to Bodkin, in a whisper.</i></p>
<p>“This is the doublet,” said my father when he had finished
his story, “which, as I have told you, was made by
the One-Armed Sorcerer with his left hand. Prepare now
for your journey, my son, and good fortune attend you.”</p>
<p>All that day I spent in preparation, and early on the next
morning I set forth for the city of Oogh. My daughter,
the Princess Amadore, implored me to take her with me.
She was ever of an ardent and adventurous spirit, and she
would not listen to my objections on the score of danger.
She usually had her way with me, and I knew from the
first that there was no use in resisting her entreaties; and
the upshot of it was that I yielded, though much against my
judgment.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince and His Daughter Set Forth for Oogh</i></h3>
<p>In due time we made our way to the city of Fadz on the
seacoast, where we took ship for Oogh; and for some two
weeks we sailed the Great Sea with favorable winds. At
the end of that time we were blown out of our course by
storms, and took shelter in the Island Kingdom, at a port<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</SPAN></span>
called Ventamere, whence we visited the kingdom’s capital
city, and arrived there in time to witness, as the King’s
guests, the marriage of his daughter the Princess Hyla to
one Alb, a goldsmith’s son, a youth of exceedingly cheerful
and engaging manners. This ceremony over, we returned
to Ventamere, and there took ship once more for
Oogh.</p>
<p>No further accident delayed us, and after a week we
sighted that part of the mainland which my father had
described to me. At my direction we were put ashore, my
daughter and myself, at a point where, as I knew, I should
find the road to Oogh.</p>
<p>Leaving orders for the ship to ride at a safe distance
from shore against our return, we turned our faces inland;
but before going further, I darkened my face, neck,
and hands with walnut juice, and dressed myself in patched
and threadbare clothing. I put on my magic doublet, but
concealed it beneath a rude blue smock. I tried to persuade
my daughter to darken her face also, but she positively
refused to ruin her complexion, as she expressed it,
and I now regretted bitterly that I had brought her with
me. I was able to persuade her, however, to put on a
coarse and tattered gown, but she did it very unwillingly.
I had provided myself with some trinkets of silver, odds
and ends of lace and silk, and children’s toys, and these
I now slung on my back in a pack. Thus, in the character
of a peddler and his daughter, we set forth upon the road
to Oogh.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>A Strange Encounter at a Wayside Well</i></h3>
<p>Late in the afternoon we saw before us the roofs of
the city, and at the end of the road a gate in the city wall.
At the same time we perceived, in a clump of trees, a wayside
well, and we were hastening toward it, being tired
and thirsty, when we heard a voice in that direction, which
was exclaiming angrily:</p>
<p>“There! Take that! I hate you, I hate you! Oh, if
I could never see you again!”</p>
<p>Hearing no reply to this outburst, and wondering who
it was that could take such language in silence, we hurried
forward, and saw, standing beside the well, under the trees,
a boy and no one else; a boy of some twelve years of age,
dressed in a gorgeous robe of pale yellow silk; a singularly
beautiful boy, with great dark eyes and curly dark hair,
but a face extremely pallid and stained with tears; a face,
in fact, the saddest I had ever seen in a child. He was
picking up from the wet ground beside the well handfuls
of mud, and spattering his silk robe with it; and as we
arrived he tore from his head a cap of spotless white
velvet and stamped it into the mud, crying out, “I won’t
wear you any more, I won’t! I hate you!” And then he
burst into tears and flung himself full length on his face
in the mud, beating the ground with his hands and muttering
brokenly to himself.</p>
<p>We paused in astonishment, but my daughter, recovering
herself quickly, ran to him and put her hand on his
shoulder. He sat up, startled. He rose to his feet timidly,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</SPAN></span>
and gazed at us with big round eyes, trying to choke
back his sobs. He was mud from head to foot, and his
gorgeous robe was ruined.</p>
<p>My daughter coaxed him to tell her what was the matter,
but he made no answer; instead, he pulled off the ruined
robe and flung it in the mud, and standing in his shirt and
breeches stamped upon it and burst into tears again, and
cried, “I won’t wear it! I want to be poor! I want to be
like the others! Oh, the wicked Eyebrow! Why can’t
he be good like the others? Oh, if I could only cut off
the Eyebrow and make him poor and good like the others!”</p>
<p>My daughter took his hand and begged him to tell her
his trouble, but all he would say was, “He’s wicked, and
I want him to be good like the others! And to-night he’s
going to give the Blind Bowler to Goolk the Spider, and
I can’t stop him, I can’t stop him!” And he broke into a
fresh storm of sobbing.</p>
<p>My daughter shook her head at me pityingly.</p>
<p>“We are very sorry, my lad,” said I, “and I ask you
to trust us. We are going into the city, and perhaps when
you know us better you will tell us all about it. We should
like to help you. Will you come with us?”</p>
<p>“What can a peddler do against the Eyebrow?” said
the boy,—but he dried his tears, and allowed my daughter to
lead him forth by the hand into the road.</p>
<p>We could make nothing of the boy’s wild talk, but we
went onward without questioning him further, and drew
near to the city in silence. Beside the city gate, under the
wall, a crowd of idle people were gathered, and from the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</SPAN></span>
center of the group we could hear voices singing together
hoarsely. In a few minutes we were in the midst of the
crowd, and saw what it was the idlers were looking at.</p>
<h3><i>The Three Blind Ballad Singers</i></h3>
<p>Three blind men were singing a comic ballad in loud
voices, and prancing up and down in time, with such antics
that the crowd roared with delight. Each of the three
held in his hand a sheaf of papers,—ballads, undoubtedly,
intended for sale to the onlookers. Suddenly they stopped,
each with a hand at his ear, and looked up at the sky as if
listening.</p>
<p>“Is there a stranger here?” cried one of them.</p>
<p>“A peddler and a maid!” shouted one of the crowd.
“All tattered and torn!”</p>
<p>“With eyebrows?” cried the ballad singer.</p>
<p>“Yes! yes!” said several of the crowd together.</p>
<p>I did not like this sort of attention very well, and I
was about to draw my daughter away, when the ballad
singers faced with one accord in my direction and began
to cry, “Buy our ballads! Ho, master Eyebrows! Buy
our ballads! Welcome to Oogh, master Eyebrows!”</p>
<p>The faces and heads of these three fellows were covered
with black hair; but I now noticed that not one of them
had the vestige of an eyebrow; and I observed further
that there was not an eyebrow amongst all the crowd, with
the exception only of the boy at my side; and as to him,
the people, when they saw him, suddenly fell silent, and
backed away from him with something like fear in their<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</SPAN></span>
eyes. The boy observed it, as I could see, and looked as
if he were going to cry again.</p>
<p>“What do we say, brothers,” shouted one of the ballad
singers, “what do we say to the damsel in the tattered
gown? Shall one of us marry the tattered damsel? Oh,
yes, oh, yes! Tra la, tra la,—”</p>
<p>He paused, as if waiting for a laugh; but the crowd
did not laugh any more, and my daughter was herself in
fact the only one who seemed to be amused. As for myself,
I was beginning to be angry.</p>
<p>“We’ll marry the Lady Tatters!” cried the blind man.
“O-o-oh!” And he burst into a loud song, in which the
other two joined, all three prancing up and down meanwhile
in a ridiculous dance. So far as I can recollect it,
their song went something like this:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="indent2">“O Lady Tatters! O Lady Tatters!</div>
<div class="verse">We scorn the fellow who basely flatters,</div>
<div class="verse">But we can’t help saying that nobody matters</div>
<div class="indent1">But you, fair lady, but you, but you!</div>
<div class="indent1">Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,</div>
<div class="verse">We know that it’s generally customary</div>
<div class="verse">In cases like these to be shy and wary,</div>
<div class="verse">For often enough in matrimony</div>
<div class="verse">There’s plenty of gall mixed in with the honey,</div>
<div class="indent1">How true that is! how true! how true!</div>
<div class="indent1">Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,</div>
<div class="verse">But under existing circumstances</div>
<div class="verse">Every fellow must take some chances,</div>
<div class="verse">Refusing to bother concerning expenses</div>
<div class="verse">And other deplorable consequences,</div>
<div class="verse">Cheerfully scorning each friendly warning,—</div>
<div class="indent1">How few regard it! how few! how few!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="indent1">Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,</div>
<div class="indent2">O Lady Tatters! O Lady Tatters!</div>
<div class="verse">We’ve duly considered these difficult matters,</div>
<div class="verse">And now, without any reservation,</div>
<div class="verse">We’re ready to enter the marriage relation!</div>
<div class="verse">You’ve only to view our reliable faces</div>
<div class="verse">And gaze on our truly superlative graces,</div>
<div class="verse">To note that the suitors by whom you’re attended</div>
<div class="verse">Come really remarkably well recommended,—</div>
<div class="indent1">Buy it’s all in the point of view! How true!</div>
<div class="indent2">It’s all in the point of view!</div>
<div class="indent1">Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,—”</div>
</div></div>
<p>“Silence, rogues!” I cried, out of all patience at their
impudence, but my daughter burst out laughing. It was
ever her way to be amused rather than annoyed.</p>
<p>“Master Eyebrows!” shouted the first ballad singer.
“Choose one of us for the tattered damsel! What will
you take for her? Speak.”</p>
<p>“You shall have the Shears!” shouted the second ballad
singer.</p>
<p>“The Shears of Sharpness!” shouted the third.</p>
<p>“See, Eyebrows!” cried the first. “The Shears of Sharpness!”</p>
<h3><i>The Blind Ballad Singer Displays the Shears of Sharpness</i></h3>
<p>He drew from under his gown a pair of tailor’s shears,
and as he did so the crowd fell back as if in alarm. He
stepped toward the city wall, and placed his hand on a
flat iron bar, some two or three inches in width, supporting<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</SPAN></span>
an awning over a booth; and applying his shears to it,
he cut it through and through as if it had been paper. I
gasped in amazement; never had I seen a pair of shears
like those.</p>
<p>“The Shears for the lady!” cried the blind man. “Come,
Eyebrows, choose!”</p>
<p>“Impudent rascal,” said I, “the lady is my daughter,
and I foresee that a good scourging is awaiting you. Come,
Amadore!”</p>
<p>“But buy our ballads!” cried the second ballad singer.
“Buy our ballads!” cried the others, and each of the three
thrust toward me one of his papers.</p>
<p>I took them, and paying over a few coppers, moved on
toward the city gate. “Father!” said Amadore in my
ear. “The boy is gone!”</p>
<p>It was true. The boy had slipped away, and was gone.
The idlers began to laugh again, and I drew my daughter
after me into the city.</p>
<p>In a moment we were standing in a street of shops,
and my daughter, laughing again, begged me to read my
ballads. I glanced at the sheets, still angry, and was
about to toss them away, when I observed that they were
blank, or nearly so, and I looked at them more closely.</p>
<p>On the first were written these words, and nothing more:
“Hurry. Hurry.”</p>
<p>On the second I found these words only: “The Cobweb
Room in the Governor’s Palace.”</p>
<p>On the third were these words only: “The Eyebrows of
Babadag the Tailor.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</SPAN></span>I stared at my daughter in perplexity; but she urged
that these could be no other than messages on behalf of
our friend Urban, and that we must find him without a
moment’s delay. We walked on briskly, intending to inquire
our way to the governor’s palace.</p>
<h3><i>The Strange Conduct of the People of Oogh</i></h3>
<p>As we went on, we became aware of a general and oppressive
stillness. A few people were in the street, and
some could be seen inside the shops; but they conversed in
low tones, and they seemed to be idle, indifferent, and
listless. Here and there a shopkeeper sat in a chair before
his shop, gazing blankly at the opposite wall.</p>
<p>Of the first of these shopkeepers I inquired the direction
of the governor’s palace. The man started from his reverie,
as if frightened, rose from his chair, stared at me
curiously, and without a word went into his shop and closed
the door. “Did you see?” said my daughter. “He had
no eyebrows.”</p>
<p>At the next corner we came to an open market of stalls,
and there I repeated my inquiry. Instead of the usual
bustle and clamor of a market, there was the same silence,
though the place was thronged with people. I nudged
my daughter in surprise, for among all these people there
was not an eyebrow. The venders were making no effort,
apparently, to sell their wares, and the customers were
buying with an air of indifference, as if the business bored
them. I began to feel depressed, and even my daughter
was sober.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</SPAN></span>The market man of whom I asked my direction looked
anxiously about him before answering, and then whispered
hurriedly, “I’ve nothing to do with it. Nothing. How do
you come to be wearing eyebrows here?”</p>
<p>Without answering him, I applied at two or three other
stalls, but the only result was a shaking of heads and a
curious, wide gaze, as of mild alarm. There was nothing
to do but to search out unaided the most pretentious house
in the city; for such a house, undoubtedly, would be the
governor’s residence.</p>
<p>We walked the streets for more than an hour; and everywhere
was the same silence, the same listlessness, the same
apathy. “I don’t believe,” said my daughter, “that these
people have any wills of their own at all.”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” said I, “they have no eyebrows of their
own, at least. Except for the boy who ran away from us,
I haven’t seen an eyebrow in the city. It seems strange.”</p>
<h3><i>The Mansion in the Ruined Park</i></h3>
<p>We ascended a hill, and came to a park gate, at a point
from which we could see the entire city below us. Through
the gate, across the park, we saw a residence more imposing
than any we had yet seen. The gate hung wide open
on broken hinges, and the park within was in a state of
ruin.</p>
<p>“This must be it,” said my daughter.</p>
<p>“It seems unlikely,” said I, “but we will soon know.”</p>
<p>We made our way across the park, through tall weeds
and tangled brambles, and stood before a splendid but<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</SPAN></span>
gloomy mansion. The door was swinging open, and we
entered.</p>
<p>All was silent within. A sense of calamity seemed to
pervade the place; plainly it was deserted. We walked
on through spacious apartments, and everywhere was
furniture of the richest description, but covered with dust
and hung with cobwebs. We stopped finally, far within,
before a door which appeared to lead outside.</p>
<p>“It is no use,” said I. “Our friend is gone, if he was
ever here, and we must seek him elsewhere.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” said my daughter. “We must find the Cobweb
Room.”</p>
<p>She led the way out into an open court green with moss
and weeds, in the center of which was a fountain with a dry
and littered basin beneath it. I stopped suddenly, and
listened. “Hark!” said I. From a distance came, or
seemed to come, the voices of the three blind ballad singers,
shouting out some ribald ballad. My daughter smiled, and
I called out, “Urban!” The singing ceased, and there was
no response to my cry. “Come,” said my daughter, and
led me around the dry fountain to an alley of cypress trees
which opened toward a section of the mansion beyond the
court.</p>
<p>An open door at the end of this alley admitted us to a
circular chamber, very lofty, evidently an audience room,
deserted like the rest, on one side of which, on a daïs, stood
a marble seat with arms, covered with cobwebs.</p>
<p>“Ah! Look!” said my daughter, and pointed to an
open doorway on the opposite side of the room.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Solitary Figure Behind the Spider’s Web</i></h3>
<p>The doorway was barred from top to bottom and from
side to side with a single monstrous spider’s web. We stood
before it and looked through. Seated beside a table in a
little room with a high window barred likewise with a cobweb
was the figure of our friend, the governor of Oogh.</p>
<p>His head was resting mournfully on his hand, and he
was staring vacantly at the floor. His hair was long and
powdered with dust; his beard had grown to a great length;
but he had no eyebrows. His hands and clothing were
white with dust, and there was around his neck, in striking
contrast, a gold chain, of very fine gold and delicate workmanship.</p>
<p>“Urban!” I cried. “We are here!”</p>
<p>He did not move. I called his name again, but he seemed
not to hear. He did not move nor speak. I pushed briskly
against the cobweb, but it held like wire; I could not break
through, though I dashed against it with all my strength.
I tried to cut it with a sharp knife which I wore under my
smock, but it was no use; the cobweb held, and the blade
was broken.</p>
<p>We remained for a moment, peering in at our friend,
uncertain what to do. Who could have been the author of
this witchery? I remembered the name which had occurred
on one of the ballad singers’ sheets. I gave a last look at
the silent and motionless figure within, and led my daughter
back to the court of the dry fountain. There she sat down
on the rim of the empty basin, and looked up at the sky<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</SPAN></span>
as if listening. A faint sound, as of singing at a distance,
seemed to float down to us.</p>
<p>“Just as I thought,” said my daughter. “It will be best
for me to remain here. I think some information will
come to me here, if I wait. Do you go down into the city,
father, and seek what you may find there. I will wait
here until you return. Don’t be uneasy, father; I shall
not be lonesome.” And she laughed, as if at some joke.</p>
<p>I did not understand her purpose, and I refused to
leave her; but she insisted, and I gave in at last. She always
had her way.</p>
<p>I left her, and set forth alone to obtain such information
as I could. I was passing out through the ruinous gateway
into the street, when I heard, or fancied I heard, from the
direction of the house, the voices of the three blind ballad
singers, in one of their songs; but when I stopped to listen
I could hear them no longer, and I concluded that I had
been mistaken.</p>
<p>I reached the market place, and stood for a moment
behind an awning, debating whether I might put a question
regarding Babadag the Tailor. I was still uncertain what
to do, when a slight commotion among the people attracted
my notice. I looked out from my concealment, and saw,
approaching from the next corner, the boy whom I had
found beside the wayside well.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince Watches the People’s Behavior Toward the Boy</i></h3>
<p>His face was dark with a sort of settled gloom. He
walked slowly, and as he came on the people made way for<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</SPAN></span>
him and stood whispering in groups and glancing at him
furtively over their shoulders. He paused at one of the
stalls and picking up some dates looked at the vender,
timidly and appealingly, as if about to speak; but the vender
sidled away from him toward the nearest group, and the
boy put down the fruit, sighed, and went on.</p>
<p>He passed the place of my concealment, and by this time
tears were beginning to trickle down his cheeks. But he
held his head proudly, and looking neither to right nor to
left passed out of sight around the next corner.</p>
<p>I followed him, hoping for some light upon the general
mystery. I followed him across the city, through many
streets, wondering why it was that a boy so gentle and so
beautiful should seem to inspire everywhere a kind of mild
and listless aversion. At one place a child ran up to him
and tugged at his garments, and the boy’s face lighted up
with pleasure; but the child’s mother pulled her infant away
in a hurry, and the boy went on, more sadly than before.</p>
<p>He came to a street in which, for the space of a single
block, the shops and houses were evidently deserted; and in
the middle of this block, before a shop with broken windows,
deserted apparently like the rest, the boy stopped, and pushing
open the front door, went in.</p>
<p>I came up quickly, and peeping in at the same door saw a
vacant room within, in which remnants of old merchandise
were lying about in disorder, and dirt and refuse lay everywhere
on the floor. I went in quietly and crossed the room
to a door at the rear, and opening it on a crack saw the
boy stooping down in a paved yard. I heard the boy speak,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</SPAN></span>
without hearing what he said, and saw him descend by some
means into the ground and disappear.</p>
<p>I ran to the spot and knelt down beside an iron grating,
some three feet square, which I found there in the pavement.
I heard from below a rumble, succeeded by a clatter, and
then there was silence. Laying down my pack on the
ground I pulled at the grating, and found that it rose on
hinges, like a trapdoor. I opened it, and saw beneath it a
ladder. I stepped on the top rung, and went down.</p>
<h3><i>The Man with the Ball in the Underground Alley</i></h3>
<p>At the bottom I found myself at one end of a dimly
lighted room, very long and very narrow, like an enclosed
alley; and near by was the boy, and beside him a grown man,
both intent on something at the other end of the room. The
man was swinging in his right hand a large wooden ball,
and as I watched him he cried out, laughing cheerily:</p>
<p>“Never mind, Figli! This time I’ll make a strike! Only
forty-seven more to make! Now watch!”</p>
<p>He hurled the ball from him along the floor, and it
rolled swiftly to the far end of the room, where it crashed
in among ten large wooden bottles, standing upright on the
floor. He was playing tenpins.</p>
<p>“Oh!” cried the boy called Figli. “Only seven!”</p>
<p>“Never mind, never mind,” said the Bowler, cheerfully,
and ran up the alley and set up the pins, and then ran back
with the ball, in great haste. As he came back, he appeared
to look directly at me, but gave no sign of having seen me. I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</SPAN></span>
scanned his face closely. He was blind. His hair and beard
were black, and he had no eyebrows.</p>
<p>The boy flung out his hands as if in despair, and cried:</p>
<p>“It’s no use! You can’t do it! Forty-seven strikes to
make by midnight! Oh, he’ll give you to Goolk the Spider!
What shall I do? What shall I do?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I can help you,” said I, coming forward.</p>
<p>The boy sprang up, and the Blind Bowler wheeled round
toward me.</p>
<p>“Oh! it’s you,” said the boy named Figli. “What can a
peddler do against the Eyebrow?”</p>
<p>“Who is it?” said the Blind Bowler.</p>
<p>“It’s a stranger with eyebrows,” said Figli, “who was
kind to me to-day.”</p>
<p>The Blind Bowler sent a ball spinning up the alley, and
all the ten pins fell down with a clatter.</p>
<p>“A strike!” cried Figli, joyfully.</p>
<p>“We’ll do it yet!” said the Bowler. “Only forty-six
more! Never give up! Keep everlastingly at it, that’s my
motto!” And he ran after the ball, set up the pins, and
ran back, ready to throw again.</p>
<p>“If he has eyebrows,” said he, panting and wiping his
forehead, “he must have a will of his own; and it must be a
good will, or else he wouldn’t have been kind to you.”</p>
<p>He rolled the ball again, knocking down only six.</p>
<p>“Better luck next time!” he cried, and darted up the alley.
“Never say die, and keep everlastingly at it, that’s the
motto!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</SPAN></span>“My boy,” said I, “I beg you to trust me, and to tell me
who you are, and why—”</p>
<p>“A strike!” cried the Blind Bowler. “Only forty-five to
make by midnight! Trust him, Figli! His voice is honest.
I think he is the one we have been waiting for. Trust him!”</p>
<p>“It’s hard for me to tell you,” said the boy, “it’s too—”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you!” cried the Blind Bowler, running down the
alley. “His name is Figli Babadag. Does that tell you
everything?”</p>
<p>“No, nothing,” said I.</p>
<p>“Eight down that time!” cried the Bowler. “Never say
die! He’s the son of Babadag the Tailor. Now do you
know?”</p>
<p>“No,” said I.</p>
<p>“Then I must tell you,” said the Blind Bowler. “It is
Babadag who rules the city; don’t you know that? Master
of black secrets is Babadag, and lord of the Eyebrow; and
his anger is terrible. He has put the golden chain about
the Governor’s neck and shut him up in the Cobweb Room.
He has drawn the wills from out of the brains of all our
people, by plucking out their eyebrows, so that in all the city
there are but two wills only, one bad and one good: the will
of Babadag and the will of his little son. Nine down that
time! Never give up!”</p>
<p>“Oh!” cried Figli. “I want my father to be good! I
want him to be poor and good like the others! If I could
only make him good!”</p>
<p>“Only one way to do that!” said the Blind Bowler, halfway
down the alley. “He is lord of the Eyebrow, and in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</SPAN></span>
the Eyebrow lies his power. But the hairs of his eyebrows
are no ordinary hairs; they are of the family of gray snakes
that live in the lake Siskratoum, and there is no one to cut
them, even if there were a blade sharp enough; and they
must be cut by the hand of love, and there is no one here
that loves him, but his son. There is not one but trembles
at his name, and even at the name of Figli his son;—there
is scarcely one who dares brush against the boy in the street,
for fear of what power may lie in the eyebrows of the boy,
and for fear of his father’s malice.”</p>
<p>“They won’t speak to me!” cried Figli. “They’re afraid
of me! And I’ve done them no harm! I only want to be
friends with them!”</p>
<p>“You see he’s all alone. He hates his riches; he wants
to be poor and simple, like the others.”</p>
<p>“And what about yourself?” said I.</p>
<p>“Ah!” cried the Blind Bowler. “Only six down that
time! Not so easy, when you’ve no eyes to see with! But
keep everlastingly at it, that’s the word! What did you
say?”</p>
<p>“What about yourself?” said I.</p>
<p>“Oh, me! I helped the governor fight this Babadag,
and we lost; and for that the powerful one put out my eyes,
and the eyes of my three brothers as well, for nothing but
because they were my brothers; three ballad singers—”</p>
<p>“Yes!” said I. “I have seen them.”</p>
<p>“Ridiculous fellows, but no harm in them! And because
it was my pleasure in former times to play at bowling,
old Babadag placed me here, under my shop, to bowl a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</SPAN></span>
thousand strikes, if I could, by midnight of this very day;
and if not, to take my place in the web with Goolk the
Spider. Those ballad singers, my brothers, they would like
to help me if they could, and perhaps they will yet, who
knows? Aha! Another strike! I’ll do it yet!”</p>
<p>“It’s no use,” said Figli. “The time’s too short. And I
can’t save him. Oh, if you could help us, peddler! But you
mustn’t do my father any harm!”</p>
<p>“My boy,” said I, “I am a friend of the enchanted governor,
and I will do my best to help you. And perhaps the
three blind ballad singers mean to help too. I think they
do. Will you take me to your father?”</p>
<p>The boy started in alarm. “You are very brave, peddler,”
said he. “What do you say?” he asked of the Blind
Bowler.</p>
<p>“I say yes!” cried the Bowler. “There is hope in this
stranger. I think he’s the one we’ve been waiting for. My
brothers have been on the lookout for him. They’ll help
too. Trust him!”</p>
<p>“Do you know any stories?” said the boy.</p>
<p>I smiled. “A few, I dare say,” said I.</p>
<p>“My father is a lover of tales. It’s his one weakness. It
will be safer for you if you can amuse him with tales, and
the longer they are the better.”</p>
<p>“The wine, if he offers you any,” said the Blind Bowler,
“will be drugged; that much is sure. Take care. And do
not let yourself be touched by Goolk the Spider.”</p>
<p>“Come,” said I. “There is not a moment to be lost.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Prince Sets Out for His Encounter with Babadag the Tailor</i></h3>
<p>I hastened to the ladder, followed by the boy, and we
began to go up. The tenpins fell down with a clatter, and
as I reached the grating overhead I heard the voice of the
Blind Bowler from below, crying out cheerily, “Four down!
Never mind! Keep everlastingly at it!”</p>
<p>In the paved yard I slung my pack on my back again,
and followed the boy into the street. It was beginning to
grow dark, and I thought anxiously of my daughter; but I
could not go back to her yet. During our walk the boy
spoke only once, and then he said:</p>
<p>“You must not do my father any harm. I love my father.
I want him to be good, like the others, but I should die—I
should die!—if he came to any harm.”</p>
<p>I did not reply, but followed for half an hour through
streets which were now almost empty of people. We entered
at last a street narrower than the others, paved with cobblestones
and without a sidewalk, and stopped before a shop
over whose door, by way of a sign, hung a yardstick and
a pair of shears. It seemed a mean enough abode for the
ruler of the city, but Figli, without hesitating, opened the
door and went in. The room inside was dark, but I could
see a tailor’s bench and implements, and a disorderly array
of half-finished garments, covered with dust. The boy
opened a door at the rear, and I followed him along a dark
passage to another door, which Figli threw open to a flood
of light.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>Babadag the Tailor, Goolk the Spider, and the Eight Tailors</i></h3>
<p>We were standing in a magnificent apartment, paved with
colored marble, hung and spread with soft rugs, and lit
with hundreds of tapers. At the left, near the wall, was
sitting an old man, and behind his chair, from ceiling to
floor, was a gigantic spider’s web, which glistened like silver
in the candlelight. In the center of this web was a great
green spider, with five or six small black spiders about him.
Against the opposite wall, on a tailor’s bench, eight men,
totally without eyebrows, were sitting cross-legged, each
bending over a bowl held on his knees, filled with what
looked like shreds of hair, and engaged in some kind of
work with tiny knitting needles.</p>
<p>The old man’s gross and heavy body was clothed in a
gorgeous robe of pale yellow silk, like that which the boy
had thrown in the mud, but embroidered with spider’s webs
of spun gold, and studded with rubies and amethysts. His
face, a rather jovial face, was covered with gray hair,
which hung over his breast, and his eyes shone like sparks
behind a pair of the shaggiest eyebrows I had ever seen.
He gazed at me calmly, and held out a hand to his son.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_098fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">“You are welcome, master peddler,” said Babadag</p>
<p>The boy went to him, and Babadag the Tailor put an arm
about him and said, with very obvious tenderness:</p>
<p>“My boy, you are late. And your robe and hat! Where
are they?”</p>
<p>The boy threw himself on his knees beside his father, and
cried, “Oh, father! I couldn’t wear them any longer. I
couldn’t! They’re hateful! I don’t want to be dressed in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</SPAN></span>
silk! I want to be poor like the others! I can’t wear them
any longer, I can’t, I can’t!”</p>
<p>The old man smiled kindly. “Never mind, my son, never
mind. I’ll not scold you. We’ll think no more about it.
Who is the visitor you have brought with you?”</p>
<p>“It’s a peddler,” said Figli, standing up. “I don’t know
his name; a peddler I met by chance, and I’d like you to buy
me something from his pack.”</p>
<p>I stepped forward, made my bow, and dropped my pack
to the floor.</p>
<p>“You are welcome, master peddler,” said Babadag.</p>
<p>The green spider gave a sharp twitch, which set the whole
web quivering.</p>
<p>“Quiet, Goolk!” said Babadag.</p>
<p>The eight men on the tailor’s bench stopped their work,
and said: “Welcome, master peddler!”</p>
<p>“Knit your brows!” said Babadag, angrily, and the eight
men hurriedly resumed their knitting.</p>
<p>I opened my pack and began to take out some toys.</p>
<p>“Presently, presently, peddler,” said Babadag, stopping
me. “Your face is dark, stranger. A little more, and it
would have been black.”</p>
<p>“Yes, very dark,” said the eight men, stopping their work
again.</p>
<p>“Knit your brows!” thundered Babadag. “Accursed
dogs, be silent!—A dark stranger, who wears eyebrows in
the city of Oogh! A thing of interest! I would gladly
know who you are and what brings you here.”</p>
<p>I was prepared with my story, and I answered promptly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</SPAN></span>“Magnificence,” said I, “I am a peddler, and my name is
Nobbud Bald-er-Dash. If the ear of graciousness will incline
to me, I will tell an amusing tale concerning myself,
and at some length.”</p>
<p>“A tale!” cried Babadag. “You must know, honest Bald-er-Dash,
that I am a lover of tales. A weakness! I confess
it. Come! We will make a night of it. Goolk,” said
he, rising, “come hither!”</p>
<p>The green spider sped down the web to the floor, and
ran up the old man’s yellow silk robe, and came to a stop
on his breast, beside his beard.</p>
<p>“It is the hour of the evening repast,” continued Babadag,
stroking the spider with his finger, “and I invite you to sit
down with me. A guest who has a tale to tell! It is good
fortune, no less! Come, Figli, my son, we will listen to the
excellent Bald-er-Dash while we dine.”</p>
<h3><i>The Prince Dines with Babadag the Tailor</i></h3>
<p>He pulled aside a curtain in the wall, and leaving the
eight men at their work, we passed, all three, into an open
court, hung about with lanterns of colored glass, and odorous
with flowers. Under an awning was a small table, set for
two. It was now dark, and the lanterns shed a soft glow on
the silver and glass of the table. Servants appeared and
laid a place for myself, and the meal commenced.</p>
<p>“You are wondering, Bald-er-Dash,” said Babadag,
“who the eight men are whom we have just left. They
are tailors, known among us as the Knitters of Eyebrows.
They are knitting for me, out of the eyebrows which my<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</SPAN></span>
good people have been so kind as to give me, a garment
known as the Cloak of Wills, which will, when finished,
complete the mastery of the fortunate person who wears it.
Try a little of this wine, my good Bald-er-Dash; you will
find it excellent.”</p>
<p>I pretended to drink the wine, but I was able, while
Babadag’s attention was fixed on his plate, to spill a good
deal of it on the floor.</p>
<p>“I am anxious to hear your story,” said the old man.
“The singers who sometimes entertain me at my meals are
late to-day, and we will not wait for them. Bald-er-Dash,
my good fellow, let me hear your tale.”</p>
<p>At this moment voices were heard from the shadows,
and three men came running toward the table, crying out
boisterously.</p>
<p>“Good news!” they were shouting. “We’re going to
marry! She’s promised! She’ll marry the one you choose,
tra la! She’ll marry the one you choose!”</p>
<h3><i>The Three Blind Ballad Singers Once More</i></h3>
<p>They began to sing, at the top of their voices. I started
in surprise. It was the three blind ballad singers. “O-o-oh!”
they sang:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“She wanted to marry us all, she said,</div>
<div class="indent1">But that wouldn’t do, no never,</div>
<div class="indent2">No never, no never, no, no!</div>
<div class="indent3">From suitors a dozen,</div>
<div class="indent3">Not counting a cousin</div>
<div class="indent2">And two or three uncles or so,</div>
<div class="verse">She’d freely and frankly, firmly and fairly,</div>
<div class="indent3">Flatly and finally fled!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="indent1">For never a one could sing, not one,</div>
<div class="indent1">Not a line, not a note, not a thing, not one,</div>
<div class="verse">And she, she said, if she must be wed,</div>
<div class="indent1">A singer she’d have, or she’d have none,</div>
<div class="verse">For really she’d almost rather be dead</div>
<div class="verse">If she couldn’t be uninterruptedly fed</div>
<div class="indent3">On an endless tonic</div>
<div class="indent3">Of scales harmonic</div>
<div class="indent2">In every possible key,</div>
<div class="indent3">An infinite series, never finished,</div>
<div class="indent2">Of chords with all the sevenths diminished,</div>
<div class="indent2">And all the intervals less than minor,—</div>
<div class="indent2">Surely nothing could be diviner,</div>
<div class="indent1">Nothing! nothing at all, said she:</div>
<div class="indent2">And after breakfast a quaver hemi,</div>
<div class="indent2">And after dinner a quaver demi,</div>
<div class="indent2">And after supper a quaver semi,</div>
<div class="indent1">And in between, for ever and ever,</div>
<div class="indent2">Every possible kind of shake!</div>
<div class="indent1">The fact of the matter is, you see,</div>
<div class="indent3">She’d made up her mind, beyond mistake,</div>
<div class="indent1">To offer her hand to one of we!</div>
<div class="indent4">But which should it be?</div>
<div class="indent4">Which one of the three?</div>
<div class="verse">And what of the two who would have to go?</div>
<div class="indent1">What about them? she said; that’s it!</div>
<div class="indent1">She didn’t approve the idea a bit.</div>
<div class="verse">Those other two she could never forget,—</div>
<div class="verse">Just think of them out in the cold and wet!</div>
<div class="verse">Just think of their terrible, terrible woe!</div>
<div class="verse">She wanted to marry, and yet, and yet,</div>
<div class="indent1">She’d never be happy, no never,</div>
<div class="indent2">No never, no never, no, no!”</div>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</SPAN></span>“Silence, fools,” said Babadag, laughing. “We are about
to listen to a tale,—a tale from Bald-er-Dash the peddler.
Will you proceed now, excellent peddler?”</p>
<p>“Willingly,” said I.</p>
<p>At the sound of my voice, the three blind men cried out
“Aha!” and broke into a fresh song:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“The peddler and the peddler’s maid, oh fair as milk was she,</div>
<div class="verse">And she promised on her honor she would marry one of three,—”</div>
</div></div>
<p>“Silence, rascals!” said Babadag.</p>
<p>I was becoming, all this while, more and more restless,
for I had no doubt that all this talk of marriage had reference
to my own daughter. I wondered bitterly what mischief
she had been up to during my absence.</p>
<p>“These rascals,” said Babadag, still laughing, “sometimes
I am minded to put them to death. I don’t know really why
I let them live. Now then, excellent one, let us hear the
tale.”</p>
<p>I bowed, and while the repast proceeded, and the three
ballad singers remained standing behind our chairs, I related
to Babadag, as follows,</p>
<h4>THE STORY OF NOBBUD BALD-ER-DASH THE PEDDLER</h4>
<p>“In the course of my wanderings,” I began, “I arrived
one day at a spring in the wilderness, beside which were encamped
a company of—”</p>
<p><i>“I think,” said Solario, interrupting himself, “that I cannot
conscientiously repeat this story, because—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, please!” said Bojohn. “We’d like to hear it.”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</SPAN></span><i>“No,” said. Solario, “I couldn’t, conscientiously, because
there is not a word of truth in the story, and I do not wish to
tell anything which is not strictly true.”</i></p>
<p>During my tale (said the Prince) I pretended now and
then to take a sip of wine, and to grow drowsy, so that
toward the end I seemed to have difficulty in keeping awake.
When I had concluded, Babadag laughed and said, “I thank
you, peddler. Never in my life have I heard such a tissue
of—er—amusing facts. Some more wine, peddler.”</p>
<p>I pretended to sip the wine again, and let my head fall
forward on my breast, and roused myself as if with a great
effort.</p>
<p>“I am something,” said Babadag, appearing to take no
notice of my drowsiness, “of a teller of tales myself. I
will tell you in return a story, and when I have finished
you shall tell me another, if you know any, as you undoubtedly
do.”</p>
<p>Thereupon he commenced a long and detailed story; and
I could see that as he proceeded he was watching me from
the corner of his eye. He had not spun out his tale very far
when my eyes closed and my head nodded; and after an apparent
effort to arouse myself I let my head fall forward on
the table and lie there motionless.</p>
<p>Babadag instantly stopped, raised my head gently, and
laying it back against my chair shook me roughly, but with
no effect.</p>
<p>“Send in the accursed dogs,” said he in a fierce whisper.</p>
<p>I was aware, in a moment, that the eight tailors were
standing around me.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</SPAN></span>“The eyebrows!” said Babadag, and the tailors bent over
me and began to pluck at my eyebrows with instruments
of some sort.</p>
<p>“Oh, father, father,” said Figli, “please don’t!”</p>
<p>“Be still, my son,” said Babadag.</p>
<h3><i>The Magic Doublet Protects the Prince Against the Knitters of Eyebrows and Against Goolk the Spider</i></h3>
<p>I laughed inwardly, for I was sure that, under the protection
of my doublet, my eyebrows would reappear as fast
as they could be plucked out. And indeed, from the snort
of rage given by Babadag, I soon knew that my eyebrows
were safe. I could hear the eight tailors whispering together,
as if in dismay.</p>
<p>“Goolk!” said Babadag, in the same angry whisper, “sting
me this false peddler!”</p>
<p>“No, no, father,” said Figli. “Not that, oh, please!”</p>
<p>I shivered a little, for I confess that the thought of the
spider was horrifying to me. I waited anxiously, not daring
to open my eyelids even a trifle. I assure you it was all I
could do to remain still. There was silence, and in the midst
of it I felt a tickling on my left cheek, and then a kind of
pin-prick there, and I knew that the spider had stung me.</p>
<p>“Back, Goolk!” said Babadag. “Now, false peddler that
you are, be no longer either a prince or a peddler, but a
spider,—a black spider!—and take your place with Goolk
in the web! Change!”</p>
<p>I felt no change, and I heard another snort of rage from
Babadag. “Some charm!” he muttered. “Some charm<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</SPAN></span>
protects him! Let us see what charm this lying stranger carries
upon him.”</p>
<p>I felt that my smock was being lifted from my breast, and
I heard a kind of gasp from Babadag. “The doublet!” he
said. “It is plain! Off with the doublet!” And immediately
fingers were at my breast, trying to unbutton the
doublet.</p>
<p>But they could not unbutton it. Not a button would
come through its hole.</p>
<p>“Fetch me a pair of shears, rascals,” said Babadag, and in
a moment I knew that shears were snapping away at my
doublet. But it was no use; the blade would not cut, neither
the thread of the buttons nor the cloth; they held like iron
at every point. I heard the shears drop to the floor.</p>
<p>“The Shears of Sharpness! Bring me the Shears of
Sharpness!” said Babadag. “Nothing else will cut this
doublet.”</p>
<p>I heard a chuckle, and the voice of one of the ballad
singers said, “The Shears of Sharpness, brothers!” And
there was another chuckle.</p>
<p>“What!” said Babadag. “You laugh, rascals? You
dare to laugh?”</p>
<p>“The Shears of Sharpness!” said the voice of one of the
ballad singers. “Where are the Shears of Sharpness,
brothers?” And at this there was a very considerable
tittering.</p>
<p>“Ask the fair lady, brother,” said the voice of another of
the ballad singers.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</SPAN></span>“She knows! The wonderful lady!” said the voice of
the third.</p>
<p>“Ineffable scoundrels!” said Babadag. “Have you stolen
my Shears?”</p>
<p>“No, no! Only borrowed them! What harm in that?”
said the ballad singers.</p>
<p>“Return them to me at once!” said Babadag.</p>
<p>I could hear the ballad singers chuckling together again.
“We would, we would,” said one of them, “we meant to,
but—”</p>
<p>“But what, beast?”</p>
<p>“She has them,” said one of the three.</p>
<p>“The most wonderful of women,” said another.</p>
<p>“She who swore she would marry one of us,” said the
third.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince’s Daughter Has Beguiled the Shears of Sharpness from the Ballad Singers</i></h3>
<p>My daughter! My own daughter! She had beguiled the
Shears from these foolish vagabonds! Or had they let her
have the Shears for some purpose of their own—to help
their brother, say? I was quite bewildered.</p>
<p>“Oh, that I should let such scoundrels live!” said Babadag,
fiercely. “Where is this woman?”</p>
<p>“But she wouldn’t marry us unless we gave her the
Shears,” said one of the ballad singers. “No harm in
that!”</p>
<p>“No harm in that, surely!” said the other two.</p>
<p>“Where is this woman?” said Babadag again.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</SPAN></span>“We left her,” said one of the others, “by the dry fountain
at the governor’s palace.”</p>
<p>“Accursed,” said Babadag, evidently addressing the eight
tailors, “pick up this peddler and follow me. We must find
the Shears. You, imbeciles that you are, I will deal with
you afterward. Goolk, back to your web!”</p>
<p>I could not see what became of Goolk, but I knew that
the eight tailors were lifting me from my chair, and I felt
myself being borne away.</p>
<p>“Oh, father!” cried Figli. “You mustn’t! Please let
the poor man go, oh please!”</p>
<p>“My son,” said Babadag, in the voice of tenderness with
which he always addressed his son, “he is my enemy. I
must have him in my power. Accursed doublet!”</p>
<h3><i>A Light Flickers in the Dark Shop</i></h3>
<p>In a moment I was aware that we were in the street, and
I opened my eyelids a trifle. The moon was shining. I
saw Babadag starting on before, with the three ballad
singers at his back. Behind, the eight tailors were holding
me in a sitting posture between them. I could see the shop
door, without moving my head, and as we started I beheld
Figli, coming from the door, in the act of stowing away
something, I could not see what, in the bosom of his shirt.
The shop was dark, but as Figli closed the door behind him
I noticed, flickering from within, a tiny flame of light which
had not been there before. I remarked that the boy’s
face was very pale in the moonlight.</p>
<p>We came, after a long journey through deserted streets,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</SPAN></span>
to the little hill which led up to the governor’s palace. We
entered the ruined park, and crossed it to the mansion.
Babadag opened the door, and the company paused inside,
listening. All was silent. I had an impulse to shout, in
order to warn my daughter; but I knew that that would
be fatal, and I continued to lie inert and speechless in the
arms of the tailors. I risked opening my eyes from time to
time, and I saw that Babadag was leading the way from
room to room, all dark except for moonlight here and there
upon the floors, and that he came at last, followed by all
the others, into the court of the dry fountain; and there the
eight tailors laid me down on the ground. My heart almost
stopped beating, for fear that my daughter should be there.</p>
<p>“Vile rascals,” said Babadag, “you have deceived me!
There is no woman here.”</p>
<p>“Astonishing!” said one of the ballad singers. “Not
here! Who would have thought it?”</p>
<p>“I doubt that she was ever here,” said Babadag. “Wait!”</p>
<p>I saw him go off down the alley of cypress trees toward
the Cobweb Room, no doubt to assure himself that his
prisoner was safe, or else to seek the woman there. As
soon as he was gone, I felt a hand on my arm, and the voice
of Figli whispered in my ear, “Are you awake?” and I
pressed his hand in answer.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince’s Daughter Is Gone, and the Prince Makes a Dash for Liberty</i></h3>
<p>The eight tailors were sitting on the rim of the fountain’s
basin, mopping their foreheads and panting, and the blind<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</SPAN></span>
men were standing near them. I measured with my eye
the distance to the door from which I had come, and gave
a sudden spring toward it which carried me nearly there;
and I was off and away, before the eight tailors realized
what had happened.</p>
<p>I scoured swiftly and silently through the dark rooms in
all directions, listening now and then for sounds of pursuit.
But I heard nothing, and I began to whisper my daughter’s
name from time to time. In a room far distant from the
court, to which I presently came, I found the door at the
opposite side closed, which in that house of open doors
struck me as being odd. A broad band of moonlight lay
across the floor, and in the dim light I could see the furnishings
of a kitchen. I approached the opposite door and
opened it cautiously, thinking to go through; but I looked
into a cupboard, hung with pots and pans, and there on the
floor of the cupboard was sitting my daughter, calmly eating
a fig.</p>
<p>She looked up at me with a merry laugh, and sprang to
her feet.</p>
<p>“There are very good fig trees in the park,” said she.
“Will you have one of these? No? You’ve been gone a
long time. I heard some people going through the house,
and I thought I had better wait in here. I’m going to be
married!”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_110fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">“Beauty in tatters!” said Babadag the Tailor</p>
<p>“Come,” said I, “we’ve no time for jesting.”</p>
<p>“But it’s the best joke!” said my daughter. “When I
think how I played on those half-wits! I’ve never had
such sport in my life! I promised to marry one of them,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</SPAN></span>
if they’d choose which—do you remember the three ballad
singers?”</p>
<p>“And you have the Shears of Sharpness,” said I.</p>
<p>“How do you know that?” said she. “They’re simply
mad! And I wouldn’t promise them anything unless they
gave me the Shears. And they did! And I promised!
And now you’ve got to get me out of it. Here are the
Shears. Take them.”</p>
<p>“I suspect, my dear,” said I, taking the Shears from her,
“that these three imbeciles meant that you should have the
Shears all the time, and they’ve been making a bit of a
fool of you. But there’s no time for talking. Hurry!”</p>
<p>I stepped quickly toward the door, and as I reached it
it was blocked by a huge dark figure. It was Babadag.</p>
<p>“Not so fast, peddler,” said he; and then he saw
my daughter, who was standing in the band of moonlight,
most fairylike and beautiful. He brushed past me and
stopped before her, gazing at her in astonishment and admiration.</p>
<p>“Beauty in tatters!” he said. “No wonder that even
blind men are conquered. You make me forget the Shears.
Surely there is no woman in Oogh so beautiful. Will you
look on me kindly? I am powerful, and I offer you a share
of my power. It is Babadag who speaks.”</p>
<p>He held out his hand to her, and she shrank away in
horror. “No, no!” she screamed. “Father!”</p>
<p>Babadag turned swiftly, and at that moment I sprang
upon him; but the old man snatched forth a knife, and as
I caught and held the arm which was lifted to strike, a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</SPAN></span>
small dark figure darted in from the doorway and flung
something over the old man’s neck from behind.</p>
<h3><i>Babadag the Tailor Is Conquered by His Little Son</i></h3>
<p>The knife dropped from Babadag’s hand. He swayed,
tottered, collapsed, and fell full length on the floor, and lay
motionless on his back in the strip of moonlight. The little
dark figure knelt beside him. It was Figli.</p>
<p>“Oh, father! Oh, father!” he cried. “I’m sorry, sorry!
I had to do it! I couldn’t let you kill him! It can’t go
on any longer! The eyebrows must be cut, father! It’s
only to make you like the others! We’ll both be happier, oh,
indeed we will! It’s only because I love you, father!”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think you would have done this, Figli, my son,”
said the old man, gently. “You have put me in the power
of my enemy. Ah, Figli, my son, my son!”</p>
<p>“I know it, I know it,” sobbed the boy, “but the lady will
give the Shears to me, and I will cut the eyebrows myself,
with my own hand. The peddler will do you no harm.
You’ll be glad, father, afterward, indeed you will.”</p>
<p>“Ah, my son, my son! I wouldn’t have thought it of
you,” said the old man, still gently.</p>
<p>I knelt beside him, and found around his neck a noose of
the slenderest thread, extremely tough; and the end of this
thread the boy was holding in his hand. I took it from him
and looked at him inquiringly.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said the boy, “it was spun by Goolk the Spider,
and there is no will can stand against it, not even my
father’s. It’s the thing that made him first able to pluck out<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</SPAN></span>
the eyebrows of the people. I stole it as we left the shop
to-night. You won’t do him any harm, will you?”</p>
<p>I stood up, keeping the end of the thread in my hand. A
patter of running feet sounded from the next room, and
the eight tailors crowded in at the doorway. They rushed
to their master, and wailed and wrung their hands. One
of them drew a pair of shears, and began to snip away at
the thread, but it was plain that no ordinary blade would
cut it, and the tailor gave it up, and the other seven wailed
louder than before.</p>
<p>“Lift up this knave,” I said, “and follow me.”</p>
<p>The eight tailors obeyed instantly, and our party started
back to the court of the dry fountain. I walked beside
the body of Babadag, keeping close hold of the thread.
When we reached the court, the three ballad singers were
sitting calmly on the rim of the basin, singing softly to
themselves. My daughter, ever incorrigible, greeted them
with an amused laugh, and they crowded around her, each
trying to elbow the others out of the way. At my command,
the eight tailors laid Babadag down on his back in the dry
basin. I then gave the end of the thread into the hand
of my daughter, and left them.</p>
<p>I ran down the cypress alley to the deserted audience
chamber. I looked through the cobweb at Urban, and by
the dim light of the high window saw him sitting there
motionless as stone, in the same attitude as before.</p>
<p>“I am here!” I cried, but he neither moved nor spoke.
I applied the Shears, and in a moment the cobweb was
hanging in shreds, and I was standing beside my friend. I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</SPAN></span>
tried to pull him up, but I could not budge him. I lifted
the golden chain from around his neck, and dropped it to
the floor. Immediately he raised his head, stretched his
arms, looked up at me as if awaking from a dream, and
sprang to his feet.</p>
<p>“Prince!” he cried, and threw his arms about me in a
transport of joy.</p>
<p>I calmed him, and when he had recovered himself he said,
“What of Babadag?”</p>
<p>“He is in the court at this moment,” said I, “bound fast.”</p>
<p>“Good news indeed!” he cried. “Let us go!”</p>
<h3><i>The Governor, Being Released, Beholds the Prince’s Daughter</i></h3>
<p>We sped back to the court, and when Urban beheld
my daughter he scattered the blind men right and left and
clasped her hand in his. I took from her the end of the
thread and knelt in the basin beside the huge body of
Babadag, and gazed down into his eyes, glittering up at me
in the moonlight through their tangle of hair. I drew the
Shears.</p>
<p>“No, no!” cried the boy. “You must not! Give me the
Shears! I must do it, for you do not love him, and I do!
Only the hand of love! Give me the Shears!”</p>
<p>“No time for talking!” I cried. “This is no child’s play.
Work for a man! And I trust no one but myself! Now
for the shearing of the Eyebrow!”</p>
<p>The boy shrieked, as if in despair, and with a mighty snap<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</SPAN></span>
of the Shears I cut in among the hairs of Babadag’s left
eyebrow.</p>
<h3><i>The Shearing of the Eyebrow</i></h3>
<p>A spout of yellow smoke shot upward from his eyebrow,
and whirled and spread outward in a cloud, thick, sickening,
blinding, pierced with wriggling pencils of light, as if tiny
snakes had been set riotously free. It covered us both, so
that he was suddenly hidden from my sight. I gasped
and choked. My eyes smarted with pain. I snapped blindly
away at him through the smoke with my Shears, resolved
not to be foiled. There was a sharp crack, as of the snapping
of a whip; the Shears had cut,—alas, alas!—not the
Eyebrow, but the thread around Babadag’s neck! Instantly
the Shears were wrenched from my hand, I did not know
how; and I felt them ripping through my smock, and I
knew that some injury had been done to my doublet. A
terrible voice bellowed, “Hither, accursed dogs, and bind
me this peddler!” And the next moment I was lying on
my back, with the thread fastened securely about my neck;
and my strength was suddenly gone, and the smoke began
to clear away.</p>
<p>I saw the old man put his arm tenderly about his son, and
heard him say, “It’s all right now, my boy. I am not angry.
You have put your father in great danger, but not from
malice; I know it well. Don’t be grieved; we’ll laugh about
it together, hereafter. All’s well again. Come, Figli, my
son. Rascals, follow me!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</SPAN></span>He stalked away with his son down the cypress alley,
and the eight tailors lifted me and bore me after, followed
by my daughter and my friend. I looked for the three blind
ballad singers, but they were gone. I was in terrible danger,
and I bitterly regretted my haste in refusing the Shears
to the boy.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince before the Seat of Judgment</i></h3>
<p>In the circular audience chamber they laid me down upon
the floor. Babadag, grotesque and somber in the darkness,
seated himself in the marble armchair on the daïs; and at
the same time I heard, or fancied I heard, the voices of the
ballad singers, afar off somewhere in the palace, singing
away at one of their songs.</p>
<p>“Pluck out the hairs!” said Babadag.</p>
<p>“No, no!” said Figli, lying on the step of the daïs at his
father’s feet.</p>
<p>“Quick, scoundrels!” said Babadag; and the eight tailors,
kneeling around me, plucked out with tiny instruments all
the hairs of my eyebrows, by the roots. Then, at a sign
from their master, they stood me on my feet and removed
the spider’s thread from around my neck. My strength returned,
and I found myself able to stand alone.</p>
<p>“Gone is your power, maker of fables!” said Babadag.
“The doublet is worthless. See!” And he held up what
appeared to be the thread of a button. My smock was in
strips, and the doublet was exposed to view. One button
was missing. What had become of it? Babadag exhibited
only the thread.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</SPAN></span>“Dog of a peddler,” said he, “it is your due that I give
you to Goolk the Spider for his web.”</p>
<p>“Spare him! Spare him!” said Figli, in a kind of moan,
rocking himself back and forth on the step of the daïs.</p>
<p>“But Babadag is merciful,” went on the old man, “and
loves a tale; and never have I heard so amusing a tissue of
lies as that tale of Bald-er-Dash the Peddler. For that,
and for the pleasure I shall have in repeating that tale
hereafter, I spare you. You are harmless. Go! and as you
have chosen to darken your skin with juices, let it be darker
still. Go! and be you henceforth as black as night. I will
lead you to the palace gate, and speed you, with your
daughter and your friend, on your journey away from
Oogh. Return no more, peddler, for the web awaits you,
and Goolk the Spider longs for a brother.”</p>
<p>He stepped down from his seat, and we others followed
him in silence. I was conscious of no will to resist him
further. We came to the court of the dry fountain, and
there my daughter looked into my face in the moonlight.
She screamed.</p>
<p>We followed mournfully through the dark rooms, and
came out on the steps before the palace; and there we saw
a sight both terrible and beautiful.</p>
<h3><i>The Doom of the City of Oogh</i></h3>
<p>The city was in flames. From every roof, as far as we
could see, rose sheets of fire, and sparks showered upward
into a pall of black smoke; and as we watched, new tongues<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</SPAN></span>
of flame blazed up from quarters dark before. The city
was doomed.</p>
<p>“Ah!” said Babadag with a groan. “My city, my city!”</p>
<p>“What have I done? What have I done?” cried Figli,
wringing his hands in anguish.</p>
<p>“You, my son? What have you to do with this?” said his
father, never taking his eyes from the burning city.</p>
<p>“It’s my work!” cried the boy. “But I never dreamed
of this! I set fire to the shop, our shop, before I left,—to
burn up all the black secrets in my father’s house, and to
kill Goolk the Spider, to kill him, kill him, so that he would
never get the Blind Bowler, nor any one else! So that all
the old riches and wickedness might be burned up forever!
And now, and now, I haven’t destroyed the Eyebrow, and
I’ve burned up the city! Oh, what shall I do? What shall
I do?”</p>
<p>“My son, my son,” said Babadag, quietly, never taking
his eyes from the burning city.</p>
<p>I recalled now the spark of fire I had seen through the
window as we had left the tailor’s shop that night.</p>
<p>The flames of the furnace below us shot higher and
higher, and spread wider and wider in every direction.</p>
<p>“The Book of the Shavian Magic,” said Babadag, as if
to himself. “That must be saved.”</p>
<p>He ran down the steps and started across the park.</p>
<p>“Father! father! where are you going?” cried Figli,
but his father paid no attention. The boy sped after him,
and we others followed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Tailor’s Son Follows Him into the Burning City</i></h3>
<p>Out at the park gate and down the hill ran Babadag, and
straight into the blazing ruin which was once his city.
Nothing could stop him. Flames roared on both sides of
him; sparks showered around him; walls toppled behind
him; smoke swallowed him; but he kept on. We paused
in terror; only his little boy continued to follow him, calling
to him to come back.</p>
<p>A wall of flame shot out behind the running boy, and a
house fell crashing behind him into the street; and father
and boy were no longer to be seen.</p>
<p>I turned away, and leaving the eight tailors wailing, I
made my way with my daughter and my friend back to the
palace; and there, on the palace steps, we sat all night long,
watching the great fire burn itself out.</p>
<p>The sun rose on a city of smoking ruins; and with its first
rays there came plodding in through the park gate a blind
man, who called aloud as he reached the steps. It was the
Blind Bowler.</p>
<p>“I am here,” said I, “Figli’s friend; and my daughter too,
and the governor whom once you tried to help. What
news?”</p>
<p>“Ten strikes still lacking!” said the Blind Bowler. “But
it makes no difference now. Figli has saved me, and all
the rest of us too. Come with me.”</p>
<p>He led us out into the street and down into the city,
where the homeless people were standing as if bewildered.
We came into the street where once had been the shop of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</SPAN></span>
Babadag the Tailor. It was there no longer; but by some
chance there yet remained the wall which held the doorway,
and above it the yardstick and the shears; and across the
sill lay Figli, on his face.</p>
<h3><i>The Boy Is Found on the Sill of His Ruined Home, Alive</i></h3>
<p>My daughter ran to him and put her arm about him. He
was alive, and he shook his head and moaned, “I want my
father. I want my father.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said she, “your father. Is he—?”</p>
<p>“In there,” he whispered.</p>
<p>“Ah! He is—”</p>
<p>“Under the wall. I saw it fall on him. He is in there.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my poor boy!”</p>
<p>“I killed him. And all I wanted was to make him good.”</p>
<p>She put her arm under him and raised him, and he stood
up.</p>
<p>“Come with me, dear boy,” said she.</p>
<p>“I can’t go away. I can’t leave him in there. Can’t you
help me to see him?”</p>
<p>“Not now, but later, perhaps. Come with me now, and
we will talk of him together.”</p>
<p>“He loved me, too. He did, didn’t he? And I killed
him.”</p>
<p>“Yes, he did, he did. But you mustn’t say that you—”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t because I meant to harm him, was it? I
wouldn’t have harmed him, would I?”</p>
<p>“No, no. It was just because you loved him, that was
all.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</SPAN></span>“Yes, that was it. That was all it was.”</p>
<p>He suffered her to lead him away, and he said nothing
more, but repeated to himself, once or twice, “That was
all it was.”</p>
<p>On my part, I spoke at length to the Blind Bowler, and
gave him many directions; and he, having received at my
hands a purse of gold, for use as I had instructed him, went
his way; and we others then walked slowly back to the
palace, where we rested on the steps, waiting, and Figli fell
asleep with his head on my daughter’s shoulder.</p>
<p>When the sun was high in the east, people began to
come in at the park gate, and the Blind Bowler, his first
duty done, joined us on the palace steps. More people
came, and the park began to be filled with them; they came
before long in a steady stream, and at length the park was
crowded with a great multitude, from the steps to the
gate.</p>
<p>At a signal from myself, my party on the steps arose, and
I addressed the people of Oogh. I told them who I was,
and how my skin had come to be black; I told them that I
was going away, and that their governor was resolved to
go with me; that I meant to leave a governor who would
help them rebuild their city, and lead them in the ways of
goodness and mercy; that the person whom I had selected
for that office was the boy known as Figli Babadag, whose
soundness of heart was worth to them more than the wisdom
of years; and that such wisdom as was necessary would be
supplied by him who was called the Blind Bowler, a man
who had known how to be cheerful under affliction. And I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</SPAN></span>
asked them to say whether they would have the boy Figli
for their governor, and the Blind Bowler for his aide.</p>
<p>A shout of approval went up from the multitude.</p>
<p>“And will you,” said I, turning to Figli, “lead these people
in the ways of goodness and mercy, and help them to
forget?”</p>
<p>“If you think I can,” said Figli, standing up very straight,
“I will try.”</p>
<p>“And will you,” said I to the Blind Bowler, “keep faithfully
at his right hand, and never fail him?”</p>
<p>“That I will!” said the Blind Bowler. “Keep everlastingly
at it, that’s the motto!”</p>
<p>“The great King, my father,” said I, turning again to the
people, “will build your city ten times fairer than it was. I
have given directions for your help already, and food and
shelter will soon be at hand. Farewell! I leave you in the
care of a blind man and a child! A sound heart and a cheerful
mind, my friends, are better than an army. Farewell!”</p>
<p>The multitude shouted back farewell, and my friend
Urban and myself each kissed Figli on the cheek; but my
daughter kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him to her
heart; and then we went down the steps, leaving the pale
and beautiful boy and the blind man alone, and passed out
across the park through a lane opened in the crowd, down
into the city toward the city gate.</p>
<h3><i>The Eight Tailors Stand Before Them in a Row</i></h3>
<p>As we came to the last street corner before reaching the
city wall, my daughter pulled forth a handful of figs from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</SPAN></span>
her pocket and divided them laughingly with Urban and
myself; and at that moment a party of eight men filed
solemnly from around the corner, and came to a stop before
us in a row. It was the eight tailors. They bowed
gravely, and the first one of them said:</p>
<p>“Excellency, we implore you to take pity upon us. Our
master is gone, our occupation is gone, we are friendless
and alone; we can live no longer in the city of Oogh.”</p>
<p>“What do you wish me to do?” said I.</p>
<p>“We beseech you to take us with you, to be your servants,
your slaves, anything. We can sew, we can knit, we
can—”</p>
<p>“But I am going into exile,” said I. “I am going to hide
my hideous face from the eyes of the world.”</p>
<p>“Listen, most merciful one! It is known to us that the
missing button needs only to be sewn on the doublet by a
tailor, with the proper thread, in order that your skin
may be white again. Nine tailors are allowed for the trial,
and here are eight!”</p>
<p>“But I have neither the button nor the thread.”</p>
<p>“No matter! We will search until we find them, or else
turn black ourselves in the trial. Have pity upon us,
Prince!”</p>
<p>“Oh, father,” said my daughter, “do let the poor things
come along with us.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” said I, whereupon we walked on, and the
eight tailors gave a faint cheer and fell into line behind us.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>They Meet the Three Blind Ballad Singers for the Last Time</i></h3>
<p>As we passed through the city gate, a loud singing struck
up just outside the wall, and we beheld the three blind
ballad singers, in the midst of a dozen idlers, prancing up
and down in their ridiculous dance. They were shouting
out one of their ballads, as follows:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“The peddler came, the peddler went, the peddler lost his pack,</div>
<div class="verse">He came in honest walnut brown, he went away in black,</div>
<div class="indent1">And ‘Oh!’ said the peddler, ‘I cannot come again,</div>
<div class="indent1">For out of buttons ten, oh! only nine remain,</div>
<div class="indent9">Only nine remain,’—”</div>
</div></div>
<p>My daughter laughed aloud, and at the sound of her
voice one of the ballad singers cried out, “Ho! master blackface!
Ballads or buttons, what will you buy?”</p>
<p>The idlers laughed, and the other two vagabonds sang
out:</p>
<p>“Ballads or buttons! Buy, master blackface! Ballads
or buttons!”</p>
<p>“What will you give for a button?” shouted the first, and
he held up in my view a large ivory button, the identical
one, beyond a doubt, which was missing from the doublet.</p>
<p>“A fig for a button!” I said, and held out one of the figs
in my hand.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</SPAN></span>“A button for a fig! A bargain!” cried the first ballad
singer, and taking the fig from me placed the button in
my hand.</p>
<p>The idlers laughed at this nonsense, and we turned to go.</p>
<p>“Farewell, farewell!” cried the first ballad singer. “What
do we say to the breaker of hearts who forgets her promise
to marry?” The other two laughed, and began to sing.</p>
<p>We moved on down the road, followed by the tailors
marching by fours, and as we departed we heard behind us
the voices of the blind ballad singers for the last time,
shouting out a song in this wise:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“She said that she wanted to marry all three,</div>
<div class="indent4">Fiddle-de-dee! Fiddle-de-dee!</div>
<div class="verse">And it broke her heart that it could not be,</div>
<div class="verse">But ‘Oh!’ said she, ‘you must all agree</div>
<div class="verse">On one who shall be the fortunate he,</div>
<div class="indent4">For only one can I marry!’</div>
<div class="verse">But oh! she would not wait to see,</div>
<div class="indent4">And oh! she would not tarry,</div>
<div class="verse">For all that she said to the artless three</div>
<div class="indent4">Was nothing but fiddle-de-dee,</div>
<div class="indent9">Ah me!</div>
<div class="indent4">Was nothing but fiddle-de-dee!”</div>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_126.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE FOURTH NIGHT<br/> <small>THE RAGPICKER AND THE PRINCESS</small></h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><i>THE Queen said, “Domino!” very sweetly, and
smiled at the Second Lady in Waiting, who was
much chagrined.</i></p>
<p><i>“I don’t see how I could have been so stupid,” said the
Second Lady in Waiting.</i></p>
<p><i>“Indeed, my dear,” said the Queen, kindly, “I don’t think
you were nearly so stupid as usual.”</i></p>
<p><i>At this moment the Princess Dorobel, with Prince Bilbo
and their son Bojohn, and the latter’s friend Bodkin, came
in from the throne room, and the Princess Dorobel, standing
behind the Queen’s chair, said:</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</SPAN></span><i>“Mother, we are going to hear a story, and Bojohn insists
that you—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Yes, grandmother!” said Bojohn. “We are going to
ask Solario for another story, and you must come along
too.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Dear me,” said the Queen. “I must put away the
dominoes first.”</i></p>
<p><i>She stacked them neatly in the box, one by one, and when
this was done she rose, and Bojohn took her arm and led
her through the throne room where the King was engaged at
chess with the Lord Chamberlain.</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear,” said the Queen to the King, “you had better
come with us. We are going to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“It makes no difference to me,” said the King. “You can
have the bishop if you want him. But I’ve got your queen!
How do you like that? It’s your move! Go on, why don’t
you move?”</i></p>
<p><i>“It’s no use, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Come along.”</i></p>
<p><i>They left the King at his game, and proceeded to the room
of Solario the Tailor in the tower. They were admitted by
Solario himself.</i></p>
<p><i>In the center of the room stood Mortimer the Executioner.
He was wearing an unfinished garment without any
sleeves, fastened together with pins, and basted with white
thread along the seams. He looked extremely foolish.</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh!” said Solario, covered with confusion. “Pray come
in, come in! Her majesty herself! This is indeed an honor!
I will find more chairs in the next room. I am overpowered
by this honor. Pray be seated, your majesty. Mortimer,</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</SPAN></span>
<i>the fitting is postponed. Pray be seated, your majesty. I do
not know when I have received the honor of such a visit.
Pray be seated. Mortimer, bring in some chairs. I beg
your majesty to take the other chair; it is far more comfortable.
Mortimer, divest yourself; divest yourself.”</i></p>
<p><i>Mortimer, red with embarrassment, took off the unfinished
garment and put on his old one. Solario ran from chair to
chair, assisting each of the party to a seat.</i></p>
<p><i>“We have come for a story,” said Prince Bilbo, “and I
hope that you will be so good as to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“We want to hear about Montesango’s Cave!” cried
Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Or the Blind Giant!” said Bodkin.</i></p>
<p><i>“I beg your pardon,” said Solario, “perhaps her majesty
would deign to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Ask him for Montesango’s Cave, grandmother!” cried
Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“Dear me,” said the Queen, “I hardly know what to— It’s
a very pleasant room you have here, Solario; do you
ever play dominoes here? Dear me!”</i></p>
<p><i>“I’ll tell you what I should like,” said the Princess Dorobel.
“I should like to hear how the goldsmith’s son won the
Princess. Bojohn has been telling us about Alb and the
Princess Hyla, and I understand there is a story, a love
story—you know I dearly like love stories.”</i></p>
<p><i>“It isn’t precisely a love story,” said Solario, “but if her
majesty will permit me, I will—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Dear me, yes,” said the Queen. “A very comfortable
room it is, to be sure.”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</SPAN></span><i>Solario, after receiving the Queen’s permission to be
seated, sat himself cross-legged on his table, and all of the
others, Mortimer the Executioner, Bodkin, Prince Bilbo,
Bojohn, the Princess Dorobel, and the Queen, drew up their
chairs before him in a row.</i></p>
<p><i>“I will relate to you, seeing that you wish it,” said Solario,
“the story told me by Alb, the goldsmith’s son, regarding
the winning of the Princess Hyla. Shall I proceed?”</i></p>
<p><i>“I wish I had brought my knitting,” said the Queen, “but
never mind.”</i></p>
<p><i>Solario picked up his shears, and gazing at them thoughtfully
for a moment, cleared his throat.</i></p>
<p><i>“This, then,” said he, “is the story told me by Alb, regarding</i></p>
<h4>“THE RAGPICKER AND THE PRINCESS.”</h4>
<p>When I was sixteen years old (said Alb the Fortunate)
and my dear Princess Hyla fourteen, the King, her father,
sojourned for a time at his castle of Ventamere, beside the
sea; and you may be sure that the Princess was with him
there, for he could never bear to be parted from her for a
single day.</p>
<p>My father followed in the King’s train, and I, on my part,
was not to be left behind; and we lodged together, my
father and myself, in the town hard by the castle, where
I saw the Princess every day, and daily grew in favor with
her father.</p>
<p>The windows of the King’s castle looked out across the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</SPAN></span>
Great Sea, and beneath the windows of the Princess’s room
the tide washed up and down against the wall.</p>
<p>One evening, as it was growing dusk, and the moon was
beginning to tinge a wave here and there with silver, the
Princess was leaning out from her window and looking
across the sea— But what I am now to tell you I did not
know at the time, as you will understand, but only later.</p>
<p>Night fell, and still the Princess leaned upon her hand
and gazed out across the sea. I do not know whether she
was thinking of me, but—However. In the town of Ventamere
near by, where the shore curved inward in a bay,
lights began to glimmer, but the castle was dark, for the
King, intending to commence at daybreak his journey back
to his capital, was already a-bed.</p>
<h3><i>The Princess Hears a Voice from the Waves Beneath Her Window</i></h3>
<p>The Princess, beginning to be drowsy, reached out her
hand to close the casement of her window; and as she did
so she heard a voice, a melancholy voice, not loud, as of
a young man singing to himself, directly beneath her window.
She started in astonishment and looked down, but
she could see no one. The moonlight glittered on the sea to
the very base of her wall; there was no foothold anywhere
for a human foot; but the voice rose nevertheless from just
below her in the restless waters, and it was singing a kind of
lament, pausing once to put in a few spoken words, in
this wise:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“O quivering seas that sever,</div>
<div class="indent1">O quivering severing sea!</div>
<div class="verse">And I would I could sing forever</div>
<div class="indent1">The sorrows that sleep in me,—</div>
<div class="indent2">The soundless sundering sorrows,</div>
<div class="indent2">The shuddering secret sorrows,</div>
<div class="indent2">The sorrows secret and soundless,</div>
<div class="indent1">That sleep in the soul of me.</div>
<div class="verse">And O! the vain endeavor!</div>
<div class="indent1">The silence and the pain!</div>
<div class="verse">The silence that now shall never</div>
<div class="indent1">Sink into the sea again!</div>
<div class="verse">(That’s a very good line, though,</div>
<div class="verse">about silence sinking into the sea.</div>
<div class="verse">It sounds a good deal like real</div>
<div class="verse">poetry. Anyway—)</div>
<div class="verse">Of such would I sing forever,</div>
<div class="indent1">And sighing forever sing,</div>
<div class="verse">But alas, I never was clever</div>
<div class="indent1">At all that sort of thing,</div>
<div class="verse">And though I would chant forever</div>
<div class="verse">By quivering seas that sever</div>
<div class="verse">And severing seas that quiver</div>
<div class="indent1">A ceaseless sorrowing song,</div>
<div class="verse">I cannot sing forever,</div>
<div class="indent1">For that would be too long.”</div>
</div></div>
<p>The Princess waited, and the voice began again. It
seemed farther out on the water now, as if the singer were
moving out to sea. The words appeared to her to be so
strange that she never forgot them, and I am able to repeat
them to you precisely as she gave them to me afterward.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“O weary the sea’s commotion,</div>
<div class="indent1">And weary the sea tides’ fret,</div>
<div class="verse">The fretful tides of the ocean</div>
<div class="indent1">How weary and how wet!</div>
<div class="indent2">The humid hateful ocean</div>
<div class="indent2">The hideous heedless ocean,</div>
<div class="indent2">The ocean huge and humid,</div>
<div class="indent1">That always will be wet!</div>
<div class="verse">(If I could only once get thoroughly</div>
<div class="verse">dry, just for a single day! It makes</div>
<div class="verse">me weary, the way they go on about a</div>
<div class="verse">life on the ocean wave. I only wish</div>
<div class="verse"><i>they</i> had to live in it all the time.)</div>
<div class="verse">And O! for a seat on the settle</div>
<div class="indent1">Beside the ingle nook!</div>
<div class="verse">And O! for the steaming kettle!</div>
<div class="indent1">And O! for a human cook!</div>
<div class="verse">I hear, on the soft breeze sighing,</div>
<div class="verse">The sorrowful soft breeze dying,</div>
<div class="indent1">I hear, as it sighs and rustles,</div>
<div class="verse">The music of bacon frying,</div>
<div class="indent1">And O, I long to be free!</div>
<div class="verse">(If I could only get ashore on two</div>
<div class="verse">feet, for just one hour, I know where</div>
<div class="verse">I’d go. I know a good warm tavern</div>
<div class="verse">where—)</div>
<div class="indent1">O dear! could I only be free!</div>
<div class="verse">For a diet of fish and mussels,</div>
<div class="verse">Of cold raw fish and mussels,</div>
<div class="indent1">Did never agree with me.”</div>
</div></div>
<p>The voice moved off across the sea, and died away in the
distance.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</SPAN></span><i>“Dear me!” said the Queen. “What an extraordinary
song! And so sad, too.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Never mind, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Please let
him go on with his story.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Yes, yes, of course,” said the Queen, “let the poor man
go on with his story. I wonder how he remembers all those
words. I’m sure I never could have remembered them. I’ve
a very poor memory for songs, myself. It’s different with
the King; I declare he never forgets anything. I remember
there was a minstrel came to the castle once, and after he was
gone the King repeated word for word—</i>”</p>
<p><i>“Please, grandmother,” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“What is it, my dear?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Solario is waiting to go on with his story.”</i></p>
<p><i>“So he is,” said the Queen. “I think it’s a very pretty
story indeed. I wonder how it ends!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Go on!” cried Bojohn, and Solario proceeded.</i></p>
<p>The Princess lingered, hoping to hear the voice again,
but it came no more. She turned back into her room and lit
the lamp which hung from the center of the ceiling. She
stood before her mirror, with the lamp at her back, and as
she raised her hand to unfasten the pearl necklace which
she wore, she glanced at the wall beside the mirror. Her
shadow, thrown by the lamp, stood upright against the
wall. And at that moment she saw something which caused
her to stiffen with terror.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Princess Sees the Shadow of an Old Woman</i></h3>
<p>Through the crack of her closed door at the right of her
shadow, another shadow was oozing in and spreading itself
out across the wall toward her own. It took shape, and
paused for a moment; it was the shadow of a bent old
woman, stooping under a heavy bag, and holding out in
one hand a kind of poker with a hook at the end.</p>
<p>The Princess held her breath. The stooping shadow
stole slowly along the wall, and touched the Princess’s
shadow with its poker. Instantly the Princess’s shadow began
to move toward the other, and the other began to back
away. The strange shadow reached the door and slipped
into the crack; the Princess’s shadow followed, and slipped
into the crack after it. They were gone, and only the
blank surface of the wall remained.</p>
<p>The Princess tried to move, but she could not stir; she
tried to cry out, but she could not speak. She stood there
in the lamplight before her mirror, with one hand upraised
as if to unfasten her necklace; the minutes passed, and she
did not move. She heard the splashing of the tide outside;
a clock struck the hour; there was no other sound. Hours
passed, and still she stood with hand raised to her neck,
before the mirror. She heard the clock strike twelve; and
on the twelfth stroke her door swung slowly open.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_134fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">The shadow of a Ragpicker oozed in through the door</p>
<h3><i>A Midnight Visit from a One-Armed Old Man</i></h3>
<p>In the doorway stood an old man; a spare old man, with
long white hair and beard, and bright blue eyes in a rosy<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</SPAN></span>
face. His blue gown, spangled with silver stars, lacked one
sleeve, the right; he had only one arm, and that the left.
The Princess felt somehow that she was glad he had come.</p>
<p>He stepped quickly to her side and smiling kindly took
down her hand from her neck. She felt a pleasant warmth
at his touch, and she sighed with relief. He kept her
hand in his, and drew her toward the door. She had no
wish to resist him. She followed quietly, and together they
passed out of the room into the dark hall....</p>
<p>At daybreak, when the King was ready to depart, there
was a great to-do. The Princess was nowhere to be found.
Her lamp was still burning, and her bed had not been slept
in. The King was beside himself, and the castle was in a
turmoil. Searchers were sent in every direction, all the bells
in the town were set to ringing, and cryers went about the
streets proclaiming a reward.</p>
<p>My father and myself hastened to the castle, and I knelt
before the King and begged his special leave to seek the
Princess on my own account. I knew nothing, save that
she had vanished in the night, but I resolved that I would
find her, and I did not doubt of my success.</p>
<p>“Go,” said the King, “and good fortune attend you. If
you bring her back, no reward will I refuse you, even to the
hand of my dear child herself. Make haste, and do not return
alone.”</p>
<h3><i>Alb, Seeking the Princess, Sits Down by the Seashore</i></h3>
<p>All that morning I ran about the town, seeking her in
every quarter; but nowhere was any trace of her to be found.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</SPAN></span>
I came back in the afternoon to the seashore near the castle,
there to ponder what I had best do next. Trudging along a
strip of sand under a bluff beside the sea, I came to a large
rock which rose up out of the water at the beach’s edge,
and climbing up on it I seated myself on a narrow shelf and
bared my head to the breeze.</p>
<p>I had sat thus only a moment when I heard a voice from
the other side of the rock, a melancholy voice, not loud, as
of a young man singing to himself; and it was singing a
mournful song, pausing now and then to speak in ordinary
tones. I remember the words very well, and they were
these.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“I dream in my deep-sea cavern</div>
<div class="indent1">Of many a bosky copse,</div>
<div class="verse">I dream of a cosy tavern</div>
<div class="indent1">And a couple of mutton chops,—</div>
<div class="verse">For even the storks have gruel,</div>
<div class="indent1">And even the sheep have corn,</div>
<div class="verse">But me!—it is too, too cruel!</div>
<div class="indent1">Alas, that I ever was born.</div>
<div class="verse">(It’s too cruel, that’s what it is. It isn’t</div>
<div class="verse">right. There’s no justice in it, and I’m</div>
<div class="verse">sick of it, that’s what I am.)</div>
<div class="verse">O sorrow too deep to utter!</div>
<div class="indent1">O midnight hour of the soul!</div>
<div class="verse">If there only were bread and butter,</div>
<div class="indent1">Or something warm in a bowl,—</div>
<div class="verse">(I don’t care what. I’m so sick of raw</div>
<div class="verse">fish, I believe I could even stand stewed</div>
<div class="verse">rhubarb.)</div>
<div class="verse">O sea, so ceaselessly sloshing,</div>
<div class="indent1">O emblem of peace and hope!—<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="verse">But it’s utterly useless for washing,</div>
<div class="indent1">And O! how I yearn for soap.</div>
<div class="verse">I seek, in my cavern’s enclosure,</div>
<div class="indent1">To talk with the fishes, but they,</div>
<div class="verse">Maintaining the strictest composure,</div>
<div class="indent1">Have simply nothing to say.</div>
<div class="verse">Proud heart, you are left unheeded</div>
<div class="indent1">Alone with your grief and your ache,</div>
<div class="verse">When all that is really needed</div>
<div class="indent1">Is just a mere trifle of cake.</div>
<div class="verse">(Not fish cake. Not that. Chocolate</div>
<div class="verse">cake, three layers, with walnuts on top</div>
<div class="verse">and in between.)</div>
<div class="verse">Sing on, proud heart, though breaking</div>
<div class="indent1">With every harmonious strain,</div>
<div class="verse">And physic be not worth the taking</div>
<div class="indent1">For your description of pain,</div>
<div class="verse">Sing on, though it be not forever,</div>
<div class="indent1">Forever and a day,—</div>
<div class="verse">(Not that there’s any sense in adding</div>
<div class="verse">on a day to forever. It’s long enough,</div>
<div class="verse">in all conscience, without that. However—)</div>
<div class="verse">I wish I could sing forever</div>
<div class="indent1">To pass the dull time away;</div>
<div class="verse">And could I be endlessly clever</div>
<div class="indent1">And make me an endless song,</div>
<div class="verse">I would sing of my sorrow forever,</div>
<div class="indent1">I would,—were it not so long.”</div>
</div></div>
<p>The voice gave a great sigh, and the singing ceased.</p>
<p><i>“I used to make up little rhymes when I was a girl,” said
the Queen, “and very pretty little rhymes they were, too, or</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</SPAN></span>
<i>at least your grandmother, Dorobel, used to say so. But
dear me; I never could remember verses, no matter how
hard I tried; never.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Yes, yes, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Go on, Solario.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Now the King was different; he could remember them,
but he couldn’t make them up; and I could make them up,
but I couldn’t remember them! Tee-hee-hee! Dear, dear!
When I think of it!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Grandmother,” said Bojohn, “Solario is waiting to go
on.”</i></p>
<p><i>“So he is,” said the Queen. “I never liked sad stories
when I was a girl, for they</i> always <i>made me cry. But this
one may turn out better than I expect. I really think you’re
doing very nicely, Solario. I always say, that no matter how
poorly one makes out, he ought to be praised if he is doing
his best.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded.</i></p>
<p>When the singing ceased (said Alb) I climbed noiselessly
around the rock to the other side, and looked down.</p>
<h3><i>An Interview with a Talking Seal</i></h3>
<p>A fat seal was lying below me on a ledge of the rock,
just out of the water. The creature raised his head, and
gazed up at me with his big soft eyes.</p>
<p>“I could have sworn the voice was here,” said I, half
aloud.</p>
<p>“Are you speaking to me?” said the seal.</p>
<p>I assure you I jumped in amazement. “What!” said I.
“Was it you?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</SPAN></span>“Well,” said the seal, “there’s nobody else here, is there?”</p>
<p>“Of all things!” said I. “A talking seal! I never
heard of such a—”</p>
<p>“I suppose I haven’t any right to talk. Just because I
haven’t any legs, and have to live in a horrible sealskin, I
suppose I’m not even to utter a word. Is that it? Oh,
yes, I dare say; I suppose so.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend—”</p>
<p>“I suppose not. Anyway, you’d better not stand there
quarreling with me all day if you ever expect to find the
Princess.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Do you know anything about her? Tell me,
quick!”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do. I know a little about her. I know where
she is. The Ragpicker’s shadow came last night and
fetched away the Princess’s shadow, because the Ragpicker
needed the Princess’s shadow to protect her against the people.
Everybody is afraid of shadows,—I suppose you know
that. And then the One-Armed Sorcerer took away the
Princess, and what he’s going to do with her I don’t know.
But you’d better find out. Are you ready to go?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes! I’m ready! I’ll go anywhere! Tell me
where!”</p>
<p>“You talk brave enough. The question is, do you act as
brave as you talk? Do you mind getting half-drowned?”</p>
<p>“No, no! I mind nothing! Tell me what I must do!”</p>
<p>“Sounds very brave, indeed. Are you afraid of
shadows?”</p>
<p>“Of course not!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</SPAN></span>“Then you’re the only person in these parts who isn’t.
Where you’re going, they’re all afraid of shadows, and
that’s how the Ragpicker protects herself against the people;
with shadows. And so you’re not afraid of them. Well,
well!”</p>
<p>“I’m not afraid of anything! Tell me what to do!”</p>
<p>“So! Pretty brave! All right, I’ll take you there myself.
Take off your coat and shoes.”</p>
<p>I took off my shoes, stockings, and coat.</p>
<p>The seal hunched himself down into the water, and lay
there with his head resting on the rock.</p>
<p>“Now,” said he, “come down here and lie on my back,
and hold on tight; and don’t get in the way of my flippers.”</p>
<p>I hesitated for a moment at the idea of lying down in the
water on the back of a seal, but I came down the rock and
stretched myself out on his back and clung to him with my
arms and legs as well as I could.</p>
<h3><i>A Sea Journey on the Back of a Seal</i></h3>
<p>“Hold on tight,” said the seal, and darted off across the
sea so suddenly that I lost my grip and fell off into the water;
but he swam under me, and I was soon on his back once
more, none the worse.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter?” said the seal. “Haven’t you any
strength? I suppose I’ll have to go slower.”</p>
<p>He glided slowly and smoothly over the long swells, and
as soon as I got used to it I found that it was really wonderful
sport. We followed the shore line quite around the
island to its opposite side, and then the seal made straight<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</SPAN></span>
for the open sea. The shore faded away behind us, and
at last it was gone.</p>
<p>Hours passed, and I grew stiff and cold. I slipped off the
seal’s back now and then, for the exercise of swimming. It
was excessively difficult to hold on to his slippery skin,
and I ached so painfully with the strain that I feared at last
that I should have to let go for good; and I was about
to give up, when I saw afar off on the horizon what looked
like land. The seal swam faster. I took new courage,
and clung to him tighter.</p>
<p>It was indeed land,—evidently an island; and as we came
close to it I could make out in its side a deep cove, backed
with dark, woody hills and flanked on either side by rocky
cliffs. Fishing boats of all sizes were moored in the cove,
and a large village straggled up the hillside behind.</p>
<p>The seal glided into the smooth water between the
cliffs, and slid up against the sand of the beach at the foot
of the village. It was just twilight.</p>
<p>I jumped to my feet and stretched my numb and aching
limbs, gazing with curiosity at the near-by houses. I turned
round at the sound of the seal’s voice.</p>
<p>“Can you get me a custard pie?” said the seal.</p>
<p>“What?” said I, in astonishment.</p>
<p>“There’s a pastry cook in the village. I’ll wait for you
here. Mince pie’ll do, if they’re out of custard.”</p>
<p>I hastened away into the village, without saying anything
more.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Village of Storks</i></h3>
<p>It was a large village, and there were a good many streets;
and before I found the pastry cook’s shop I paused to look
at the strange collection of birds which adorned the housetops.
On nearly every chimney or ridgepole stood a stork,
and on some were two or three, and even more; young
storks all of them, judging by their size.</p>
<p>I noticed, as I passed the villagers in the street, that
their faces were very sad; and I thought it singular that although
I saw many grown people, I met no children, and
heard no children’s voices.</p>
<p>The pastry cook, when I found him, proved to have
the saddest face of all, and his wife looked as if she had
been weeping; and there were on the pastry cook’s housetop
no less than five small storks. When I mentioned that I
wanted a custard pie for a seal, the pastry cook handed over
the pie to me without any appearance of surprise, and without
accepting any payment.</p>
<p>I hurried back to the beach, and sat down before the
seal and held the custard pie while the hungry creature ate
it.</p>
<p>“Did you ever eat raw fish?” said he.</p>
<p>“I should say not,” said I.</p>
<p>“It’s awful,” said the seal. “It’s positively petrifying.
You know I wasn’t always a seal. Custard pie always used
to do me more good than anything else.”</p>
<p>“Tell me who you are,” said I, “and who the Ragpicker
is.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</SPAN></span>“There’s no time now,” said the seal. “You’d better be
going. The people here would like to kill the Ragpicker
if they could, but they’re afraid of the shadows; she’s
afraid of the people, and the people are afraid of the
shadows; and she’s more afraid of the One-Armed Sorcerer
than anybody else, though between you and me I think she’s
wrong about it, because he seems to be a pretty decent sort
of old chap, and I rather believe he’d like to help her if she
wasn’t afraid of him; but of course you can’t help a person
who’s afraid of you. All mixed up, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand a word of it,” said I.</p>
<p>“Brave people are always stupid,” said the seal, and
with this he wriggled himself off into the water, and I saw
his head going back and forth slowly from side to side
across the cove.</p>
<p>I turned and went into the village. It was now nearly
dark.</p>
<p>As I came toward the pastry cook’s shop again, the
village cryer came walking down the street, ringing a bell,
and calling out, over and over again, “Seven o’clock, and
time for supper! Seven o’clock, and time for supper!”</p>
<p>As the cryer passed by, the storks flapped their wings and
flew down from the housetops, and took their stand in a
row before their houses, along the curbs; and wherever a
stork stood before a house a woman came out with a bowl
in her hand. When I reached the pastry cook’s shop, the
pastry cook’s wife was kneeling on the sidewalk before the
five little storks, feeding them gruel out of a bowl with a
long spoon. I observed that all along the street women<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</SPAN></span>
were feeding the storks in the same way; but again I noticed
that there were no children.</p>
<p>I walked on, watching in every street the feeding of the
storks, and looking out for some sign of the Princess. I
observed at last a gilded wooden arm and hand holding a
lantern, projecting from the front wall of a house a little in
advance; and before this house, at the curb, a single stork
was standing, and an old man, one-armed, wearing white
hair and beard and dressed in a blue gown with silver stars,
was sitting before the stork, feeding it with a long spoon
from a bowl in his lap. Around the stork’s neck hung a
pearl necklace.</p>
<p>Wondering whether I had ever seen that necklace before,
I passed behind the old man, and as I did so the stork fixed
its eye on me and ruffled its feathers in agitation. I had no
sooner gone by than there was a great fluttering among all
the storks, and I observed, coming toward me down the
street, a bent old woman, stooping under a bulging bag
and holding out what appeared to be a poker with a hook
at the end. She was ragged and decrepit, and there was
a gleam in her eye which seemed to me to be more of terror
than anything.</p>
<p>She gazed intently at the stork with the necklace, and
then passed on down the street. All the storks, at sight of
her, suddenly flew up on to the housetops, and all the people,
or nearly all, went hurriedly indoors. As I turned to follow
her with my eyes, I saw that the stork with the necklace was
perched up on the ridgepole, and that the old one-armed
man was gone.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Ragpicker Frightens the Men Away with Her Bag</i></h3>
<p>The Ragpicker had reached the next corner, and was
about to turn into the street at her right, when a dozen men
came hurrying toward her in a group, and she stopped and
faced them. They were burly men, and they were plainly
angry; they carried cudgels, and one of them carried a rope;
they meant to do her harm, without a doubt. They advanced
on her, muttering dangerously together, and she
stood stock still, waiting. One of the men gave a shout,
and they rushed upon her in a body; but quick as a wink
the old woman whisked her bag from her shoulder to the
ground, and began to open it; and at this the men fell back
against each other as if afraid; and as the old woman made
again as if to open the bag, the men hesitated, turned about,
and actually took to their heels and fled.</p>
<p>The Ragpicker slung her bag upon her back again, turned
the corner, and disappeared.</p>
<p>What could be in that bag, I wondered, to make those
burly men afraid?</p>
<p>I hurried to the corner, and saw the old woman plodding
away toward the end of the street. She did not look
around, and I followed her cautiously. She passed beyond
the village houses and began to climb a path which wound
up the hillside among the rocks.</p>
<p>Keeping carefully out of sight behind her, I saw her stop
at last beside a hut which leaned against the side of the hill,
and go in at its door. I stole up quietly. There were no
windows in the hut, but I thought I might be able to see<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</SPAN></span>
inside through the roof, which was only a thatch of straw.
I could easily reach it from the side of the hill. In a moment
I was lying on the roof, and digging away the straw with my
fingers.</p>
<p>I worked slowly and noiselessly, and after a time made a
hole through which I could look down into the hut. It was
dark below, but I could see the old woman stooping down
over an opening in the floor, from which she was just
raising a trapdoor. She stepped down into the opening
and closed the door over her head.</p>
<p>I lost no time in making a hole in the thatch big enough
to admit my body; and when I had done so I dropped to
the floor, and stood beside the trapdoor. I raised it cautiously
and peered down. All was dark below, but I could
make out a flight of stone steps. I went down without a
sound.</p>
<h3><i>He Follows the Ragpicker Down Into the Dark</i></h3>
<p>At the bottom I got down on my hands and knees and
crawled along, touching the side of a wall at my right. The
wall ended abruptly, and feeling the ground before me I
found that I was on the edge of open space, and I could hear
the rushing of water far below. My hand touched the top of
a ladder, and I went down it carefully; but after a moment
my foot dangled in space, and I nearly fell off; the ladder
stopped short, and I clung on desperately. I then climbed
to the top again and crawled along toward my left, feeling
the edge with my hand until I shortly touched the top of
another ladder; and down this ladder, fastened securely
against the wall, I went more cautiously than before.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</SPAN></span>The ladder was long, but I finally found myself on solid
ground. Following the wall to the left, I passed around a
corner, and as I did so I saw a light.</p>
<p>It was a square patch of light, like the light of a small
window, afar off in the darkness. I went down on my hands
and knees again and crawled toward it. The ground was
unbroken here, and I could now scarcely hear the sound of
water. I stopped at last directly beneath the light, and
touched a wall. I felt with my left hand what seemed to be
a closed door, and I got up slowly on my feet. I was looking
into a lighted room through a small square window,
without glass, and crossed with iron bars.</p>
<p>A lamp was burning brightly in a bracket on a wall of the
room. On the earthen floor, near the center, the old Ragpicker
was kneeling before a brazier containing a brisk fire,
over which hung an iron pot. Her bag lay on the floor beside
her, flat and limp; it was evidently empty.</p>
<h3><i>She Stirs a Steaming Mixture with Her Long Hooked Forefinger</i></h3>
<p>As I watched her, she arose from her knees and went to a
door at the rear, and made sure that it was closed tight. She
then went to a great heap of rubbish which was piled in one
corner, and scratching with her poker amongst the rags,
bones, and old iron there, picked out carefully a handful of
bones, examining each one minutely. She then took from a
shelf a large bottle of some dark liquid, and with this and
the bones she returned to the fire. She poured the liquid
into the iron pot and dropped in the bones, one by one; and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</SPAN></span>
as she did so I observed a thing which I had not discerned
before, that what I had thought was a poker held in her
hand was in fact a long, black, stiff forefinger, hooked at the
end. There was no doubt about it; it was the first finger of
her right hand, as stiff as an iron rod, and about a foot and
a half long. She stuck it into the steaming pot and stirred
the mixture with it, muttering to herself words which I could
not understand.</p>
<p>Presently she stopped stirring, and sniffing the contents
of the pot nodded her head as if satisfied. She picked up
from the ground an iron ladle and a pewter bowl, and
ladling the steaming liquid from the pot into the bowl, drank
it down, every drop.</p>
<p>She put down the ladle and the bowl, and stood motionless,
as if waiting. A change began to come over her.
Her back straightened; she grew taller; the wrinkles left
her face; her skin became fairer, her eyes larger, her hair
longer; and there before my eyes stood a young and beautiful
damsel, tall and erect, with dark eyes in a pale face,
and two thick braids of brown hair hanging to her
waist.</p>
<p>She held up her right hand and looked at it. The long
black stiff finger with the hook was still there. She screamed,
and burying her face on her left arm shook with sobs. In a
moment she raised her head and put away her hideous right
hand behind her where she could not see it. Her left hand
she placed over her eyes, with a gesture of despair, and
as she remained standing in that attitude the hand over her
eyes grew old and withered; she began to shrink and stoop,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</SPAN></span>
and she moaned to herself. It was plain that the effect of
what she had drunk was beginning to wear off. She shuddered,
and gave a mournful cry; and in another instant she
was the old, bent Ragpicker again.</p>
<p>I drew a long breath. I stood back, for fear that I might
be seen, and when I looked again the old woman was standing
with her back toward me, facing the closed door at the
rear. I noticed now, what I had not noticed before, that she
cast no shadow in the lamplight on the floor.</p>
<p>“Skag!” she cried. “Come hither!”</p>
<p>A shadow oozed into the room through the crack of the
door, and moved upright across the floor toward the Ragpicker.
It was the shadow of a bent old woman, stooping
under a bulky bag, and holding out what appeared to be a
poker, hooked at the end; the shadow of the old Ragpicker
herself. It stood still, not far from the door.</p>
<p>“It’s no use, Skag,” said the old woman to her shadow.
“I haven’t found the right bone; but I <i>will</i> find it, yet! I’ll
find it yet! Bring in the Princess’s shadow.”</p>
<p>Her own shadow disappeared through the crack in the
door, and returned immediately, followed by another. I
started, and almost cried out. It was the shadow of a young
girl, undoubtedly the Princess, and it stood upright on the
floor beside the other.</p>
<p>“Ah!” said the old woman. “Now my shadows are complete.
This one is the best and most fearsome of all. Ah,
how they fear the shadows! Lucky for me, lucky for me!
They’re not afraid of me, but they’re afraid of shadows!
This day they would have killed me, but for my bag of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</SPAN></span>
shadows. We mustn’t lose them, Skag, we mustn’t lose
them.”</p>
<p>She paced about, growing more and more excited, and
went on talking as she walked.</p>
<p>“We’re in danger, Skag, we’re in danger. The One-Armed
Sorcerer is working against us. He has brought the
Princess herself here, to help him against me. What can he
mean to do? He means to take away my shadows from me,
Skag, it must be that. And he has brought the Princess to
help him. And what then? Death, Skag, death; a quick
death, for what will the people be afraid of then? We must
stop it, Skag, we must stop the sorcerer, and there is only
one way. The Princess must be destroyed! To-morrow
morning, when the sun shines and the shadows can be seen,
I will seek her out and destroy her; and the shadows shall
go with me and protect me. Bring in the shadows, Skag.”</p>
<h3><i>The Shadows of the Children</i></h3>
<p>The old woman’s shadow disappeared through the crack
again, and immediately returned; and behind it came a
shadow, and another, and another; many shadows, all of
children, and they moved upright across the floor and stood
before the Ragpicker. They were flat as paper and black
as ink; and the lamplight did not shine through them. They
kept on coming, and the room was soon full of them; hundreds,
as it seemed, hundreds of shadows of little children,
some so small that they were just beginning to walk. And
the shadow of the Princess was the tallest of all.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</SPAN></span>The Ragpicker pointed at the Princess’s shadow with her
long, black rod of a finger, and said, “Into the bag!”</p>
<p>She stooped to her bag and held it open at the floor, and
the shadow of the Princess moved to it, crouched, and went
in.</p>
<p>“In, all of you!” cried the old woman.</p>
<p>All the shadows crowded around the mouth of the bag,
and one after another stooped and went in. There was none
left but the shadow of the old woman herself. She closed the
bag, now bulging, and flinging it over her shoulder she said
to her own shadow, “Hither, Skag, and lie down!”</p>
<p>Her shadow moved close to her, and spread itself out on
the ground with its feet to hers, growing longer as it did so,
so that it became no more than an ordinary shadow cast by
the lamplight on the floor.</p>
<p>The old woman went to the lamp and blew out the light,
and the room was in darkness, except for the glimmer of the
dying fire.</p>
<p>I flattened myself on the ground as the door opened and
the old woman came forth with her bag on her back. I could
scarcely see her, and in an instant she had disappeared in the
darkness.</p>
<h3><i>He Loses His Way in the Dark</i></h3>
<p>I waited a moment or two, and then crawled cautiously in
the direction I thought she had taken; but there was nothing
but the blackness of deep night all round me, and I could not
be sure of my direction. I looked behind me, and I could
not see any longer the window I had just left. I had come<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</SPAN></span>
from the ladder easily enough, but it was plainly a different
matter to get back. I crawled on uncertainly, and stopped
now and then; I had gone by this time farther than I had
come at first, but I found no wall. I must have lost my way.
I went on, and found myself going down a slope. I knew
that this could not be right, and I changed my course a little;
but I was still going down the slope, and I was afraid that I
would be utterly lost if I turned back.</p>
<p>The sound of rushing water came to my ears now. The
slope grew steeper, and I crawled more cautiously. The
sound of water became more distinct. The ground was suddenly
slimy, and before I knew it I was slipping down a steep
descent, unable to stop myself. I slid and slid, faster and
faster, clutching the slimy ground and rolling over and over;
and as I was fainting with dizziness I shot off into space,
and came down with a splash into a torrent of deep water.</p>
<p>The stream hurled me away. I struggled against it, but
it was too swift. It was impossible to swim. I could do no
more than keep my head above water, and let the current
fling me along into the darkness. Tossed like a leaf, hurled
against the walls of the stream, scratched by the edges of
rocks, bruised, bleeding, and half-drowned, I almost lost
consciousness, and scarcely knew anything more until I felt
myself lying on soft sand in shallow water. I looked up, and
saw above me a clear sky; the open sea was rolling toward
me on a beach, and the moon was glittering on the waves.</p>
<p>I tottered to my feet. I was so weak and sore that I could
hardly stand. When I was able to move, I walked forward
toward the ocean. The stream which had brought me<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</SPAN></span>
spread out and lost itself in the sand. At my feet the breakers
came rushing up, and a strip of beach lay at my right
hand and my left, enclosed at the back and sides by a high
cliff. There was no way out except by climbing the cliff. I
shouted, hoping that the seal might be out there in the water,
but there was no response. I made up my mind that I would
have to climb the cliff.</p>
<p>It was a cruel task, for the cliff was steep, and there was
scarcely any foothold but an occasional rock and bush; but I
never once thought of discouragement, and I stuck to it
with all my might. My bare feet and my hands were torn
by the rocks, but I kept on, up and up, and in time I stood
on the top. I hastened away along the edge of the cliff, and
came after a long walk to a place where the cliff turned back
shoreward; and there I looked down, and saw the roofs of
the village straggling up its hillside behind the cove.</p>
<h3><i>He Hears the Voice of the Seal Again</i></h3>
<p>I lay down and put my head out over the edge of the cliff,
and at that moment there came to me from the still water
of the cove a faint, sad voice, singing:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“O wonderful pancake batter!</div>
<div class="indent1">O table and fork and plate!</div>
<div class="verse">I wonder whatever’s the matter,</div>
<div class="indent1">That he keeps me waiting so late?</div>
<div class="verse">He said he was willing to serve us</div>
<div class="indent1">Regardless of danger or pelf,</div>
<div class="verse">But I’m getting so dreadfully nervous</div>
<div class="indent1">I really am scarcely myself.</div>
<div class="verse">O why does he loiter and linger<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="indent1">While I wait so sorry and sick?</div>
<div class="verse">Let him sever the Ragpicker’s finger</div>
<div class="indent1">And do it almightily quick.</div>
<div class="verse">For then I shall sit at a table,</div>
<div class="indent1">My napkin over my knees,</div>
<div class="verse">And tipple as long as I’m able,</div>
<div class="indent1">And gobble as long as I please,</div>
<div class="verse">With plenty of good hot curry,</div>
<div class="indent1">And plenty of custard pie,—</div>
<div class="verse">If he only would hurry, hurry!</div>
<div class="indent1">O why does he linger, why?”</div>
</div></div>
<p>The voice stopped, and I rose to my feet and made off
across the moonlit fields.</p>
<p><i>“There used to be a baker at the castle,” said the Queen,
“shortly after I was married, who made up a great many
very pretty songs. The King used to say that he sang better
than he baked. For my part, I was very sorry to lose him.
His niece was going to be married in one of our villages, I
forget which,—no, I believe it was a cousin; I am almost
sure it was his cousin, and I think it was the niece who was
looking after his mother while he was here, and she had to
go and keep house for the cousin after she was married, and
that left his mother all alone; so that he had to go back to
his mother, and I always thought he was such a good son to
give up his place here at the castle in order to take care of
his poor old mother, and I’m sure very few would have done
it in his place; but I must say that the next baker was very
much better at gingerbread, though he never made up any</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</SPAN></span>
<i>songs, and I think the King himself missed the first one a
good deal afterward, though he never would say so.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded.</i></p>
<p>I rose to my feet (said Alb) and made off across the
fields. I found a path which wound down to the village, and
I was presently standing in the street. All the storks were
gone, probably within doors for the night.</p>
<p>I set forth briskly to find the house of the One-Armed
Sorcerer. I realized that the stork with the necklace was the
Princess herself, and I knew that if she was to be saved from
the Ragpicker I must act quickly.</p>
<p>I remembered the gilded wooden arm and hand, holding
a lantern, which stood out from the one-armed man’s house,
and it was only a matter of time to find it. I found it sooner
than I expected. A light was burning dimly in the lantern,
but the house was dark. There was no stork upon the housetop.
I tried the handle of the door quietly, and to my surprise
the door gave before me, and I pushed it open.</p>
<h3><i>He Peeps into the Sorcerer’s Workshop</i></h3>
<p>I found myself in a dark room, which I crossed quickly to
a door at the other side. This door I opened on a crack, and
through the crack I looked into a lighted room; a small
room, evidently a workshop, cluttered about with glass vessels
of strange shapes, metal machines of various sorts,
wooden hoops curiously interlaced, charts of the skies, and
great, brass-bound books; and at one side of the room was a
forge and in the center a table.</p>
<p>Before this table was standing the one-armed man whom<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</SPAN></span>
I had already seen. On the table, the stork with the necklace
was lying on its side, perfectly still, and as I looked the
old man plucked a feather from the stork’s wing and examined
it carefully. He then cast it aside and plucked
another, this time from the back. This also he tossed away,
after examining it, and he then plucked a feather from the
shoulder, and holding it up to the light gave a cry of pleasure,
and without turning said, “Come in, Alb, I have been
expecting you.”</p>
<p>I stepped into the room, and the old man greeted me with
a friendly smile, and held up the feather.</p>
<p>“Do you see this?” said he.</p>
<p>I looked at it closely. At the point of the quill hung a
single drop of blood.</p>
<p>The stork on the table stirred uneasily. The sorcerer
stroked it gently and said, “Sleep!” and the stork lay perfectly
still again.</p>
<p>“Wait a minute,” said the old man. “We must keep this
drop from falling off, and we must harden the point of the
quill.”</p>
<p>He produced from a closet a metal box, and out of this
he took a small glass tube, covered with frost. He held the
drop of blood for a moment inside the tube, and then put
the tube away in its box.</p>
<p>“Now,” said he, “the drop will not fall off.”</p>
<p>He went to the forge, and blowing up the coals with a
pair of bellows, he held the point of the quill for a moment
in the fire.</p>
<p>“Now,” said he, “it is as hard as a pin.”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_156fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">The One-Armed Sorcerer plucked a feather from the stork</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</SPAN></span>“Sir,” said I, “will you tell me what this is for?”</p>
<p>“To save the Ragpicker from herself,” said the sorcerer.</p>
<p>“But it’s the Princess I have come to save,” said I.</p>
<p>“It is the same thing,” said the old man. “If the Ragpicker
is saved from herself, everybody else is saved too.
And this drop of blood from the Princess’s heart will do it,
and nothing else.”</p>
<p>“I have seen the Ragpicker to-night, sir,” said I, “and I
will tell you about it.”</p>
<p>“Sit down, my son,” said the old man, and when we were
seated I told him all that I had seen and heard in the Ragpicker’s
cavern.</p>
<p>The sorcerer shook his head and smiled. “And so she
thinks I wish to take away her shadows and let the people
kill her! Well, well, it’s the way of wickedness to see nothing
but evil. Why should I wish her harm? What I seek
to do is to save her, not to destroy her; but she’ll never believe
that, because she can’t think straight. Anyway, in trying
to do evil she has provided me with the means of making
her good.”</p>
<p>“How has she done that?” said I.</p>
<p>“If she hadn’t stolen the Princess’s shadow, I shouldn’t
have brought the Princess here; and if I hadn’t brought the
Princess here, she wouldn’t now be a stork; and if she hadn’t
been turned to a stork I couldn’t have gotten the drop of
blood from her heart.”</p>
<p>“Is it true,” said I, “that the Ragpicker protects herself
with shadows?”</p>
<p>“Of course! What could protect her better? What else<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</SPAN></span>
is there to fear, but shadows? I confess I’m more than half
afraid of them myself. We all know we shouldn’t be, but
we are, just the same. They’re perfectly harmless, but
they’re terrible. There’s nothing so real as shadows.”</p>
<p>“But tell me,” said I, “how we are to save the Princess.”</p>
<p>“All in good time,” said the sorcerer; “in the meantime,
you must get a little rest, for you have an important task to
do in the morning.”</p>
<p>I was tired out, in fact. The sorcerer left me, and I sat
beside the sleeping stork, watching it in silence for a long
while, and then I surrendered myself to drowsiness, and fell
asleep.</p>
<p>When I awoke, it was morning. The stork was gone, and
the sorcerer’s hand was on my shoulder.</p>
<p>“Come,” said he, and placed in my hand a tiny bow of
thin metal, with a string of fine hair, and showed me how to
use the stork’s feather as an arrow to the bow. He then instructed
me in what I had to do, and led me out into the
street.</p>
<p>The stork which had been a Princess was standing on the
curb before the door, and all the other storks were in their
places on the housetops. The street was already busy; shops
and houses were being opened for the day and many people
were outdoors.</p>
<h3><i>He Lies in Wait with a Bow and Arrow</i></h3>
<p>Carrying the stork’s feather and the bow, I went to the
next corner, round which on the evening before I had seen<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</SPAN></span>
the Ragpicker turn up toward her home. I passed this
corner, and concealed myself in a doorway just beyond.</p>
<p>I had not long to wait. I had drawn my head back into
the doorway for a moment, and when I looked again the
Ragpicker was standing at the street crossing with her back
toward me, gazing in the direction of the stork which stood
before the sorcerer’s door. On her back was her bag, and
in her left hand she carried a knife. The people in the street
stopped to watch her, muttering together.</p>
<p>“Skag!” said she, “come in!” And she turned sidewise to
her shadow, which lay at a great length on the ground before
her. It began to shorten toward her, and kept shortening
until it was no longer than herself. “Stand up!” said
she, and the shadow stood upright beside her, a black, flat
image of herself in outline, looking as if it had been cut from
stiff, black paper.</p>
<p>The Ragpicker let down the bag from her shoulder and
opened it on the ground and said “Come out!” And at this
all the people gave a cry of terror and fled into their houses
and shut the doors, and all the storks on the housetops fluttered
their feathers and flapped their wings.</p>
<h3><i>The Ragpicker Releases the Shadows in the Street</i></h3>
<p>Out of the bag poured shadows; hundreds of them; all
the shadows of little children which I had seen go into the
bag the night before; and as they poured out, they ran
about in the street as if bewildered.</p>
<p>“Skag!” said the Ragpicker. “To the fore!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</SPAN></span>The old woman’s shadow hastened to the front of all the
others and raised its long poker finger, beckoning them to
follow. They crowded behind, and moved noiselessly up the
street toward the stork at the sorcerer’s door. The Ragpicker
followed close behind, holding her knife up in her left
hand. The stork which was the Princess stood motionless
on the curb before the door. The sorcerer was not to be
seen.</p>
<p>Now was my time for action. I crept silently after the
old woman, and came up just behind her. I fitted the feather
with its drop of blood to the little bow, and as I approached
the old woman so close that I might have touched her, I
aimed quickly at her back and let the arrow fly. Straight
into her back it darted, and stuck there fast.</p>
<p>“Skag!” she screamed, but she said no more.</p>
<p>Quick as a wink I plucked the feather from her back, and
as I did so she turned upon me with her knife uplifted. But
she stood suddenly still, her hand relaxed, and the knife fell
to the ground. A change came slowly over her. Her back
straightened; she grew taller; the wrinkles left her face; her
skin became fairer, her eyes larger, her hair longer; and
there was standing before me in her place a beautiful young
damsel, tall and erect, with dark eyes in a pale face, and two
thick braids of brown hair hanging to her waist.</p>
<p>She held up her right hand and looked at it, and gave a
cry of joy. The long, black, hooked finger was gone. Her
two hands were the shapely white hands of a young woman,
without blemish.</p>
<p>“Free!” she cried. “The enchantment is over! I am myself<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</SPAN></span>
at last! Oh, thanks, young man!” And she threw her
arms around me and kissed me soundly on the cheek.</p>
<p>I released myself, awkwardly enough, and as I did so I
saw all the shadows up the street fall flat to the ground, as
if they had been knocked over by a ball; and they began to
slip swiftly away in every direction across the pavement. In
an instant Skag, the old Ragpicker’s shadow, lay at the
young woman’s feet. She screamed and shrank away, but
in another instant the shadow’s shape was changed, and in
its place on the ground was the shadow of the young woman
herself. She clapped her hands with joy.</p>
<h3><i>A Singular Commotion on the Housetops</i></h3>
<p>The shadows of the children were climbing the walls of
the houses; and all of a sudden I heard a great clamor from
the housetops, as of hundreds of children crying out together.</p>
<p>“We can’t get down! Oh, I’m falling! Help! I can’t
hold on! Oh, Mother! We can’t get down! I’m slipping!
I’m going to fall! Hurry! Mother! Come quick!”</p>
<p>I looked up, and there on the housetops, where the storks
had been, children were clinging to the chimney pots, straddling
the ridgepoles, hanging on to the gables, big children
and little children, boys and girls, shrieking out at the top
of their voices, and struggling to keep from toppling off into
the street. One tiny boy suddenly disappeared down a chimney;
a big girl lost her hold and rolled down the roof into a
wide leaden gutter, where she hung, half on and half off.
Dozens of boys and girls sat astride the ridgepoles, as if<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</SPAN></span>
riding cockhorses. The big boys began to shout with glee,
but the little ones were crying with fright; and at the hubbub
all the doors flew open and all the fathers and mothers ran
out, and when they saw what it was, a mighty shout went up,
and it wasn’t a minute before a ladder stood against every
wall, and not more than two minutes before all the children
were safe on the ground, hugged up in their mothers’ and
fathers’ arms, with such laughing and weeping and cheering
as never were, I am sure, in this world before.</p>
<p>“Oh, isn’t it wonderful!” cried the beautiful young
woman. “I’m so glad, so glad!”</p>
<p>“The Princess!” I cried. “Look at the Princess!”</p>
<h3><i>The Princess Is Herself Again, but—</i></h3>
<p>She was her own lovely self again, and she was standing
at the same place on the curb before the sorcerer’s house,
and the sorcerer himself was standing beside her. The
young woman and myself ran swiftly to her, and I shouted
a joyous greeting as I approached; but to my surprise, she
did not reply.</p>
<p>She was standing perfectly motionless, with her eyes wide
open, and one hand raised to her neck as if about to unfasten
her necklace. On her shoulder, shown by the open
neck of her dress, was a tiny spot of blood.</p>
<p>The young woman kissed the sorcerer’s hand and thanked
him.</p>
<p>“But the Princess!” I cried. “What is the matter with
the Princess?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</SPAN></span>The sorcerer shook his head sadly. “Somebody always
has to pay for these benefits,” said he, “and I’m afraid that
when we plucked the feather we took away something we
cannot replace. She cannot move nor speak. But I will set
to work, and in time I will—”</p>
<p>“Come!” said the young woman. “I will help her! We
must take her home! Come at once!”</p>
<p>The sorcerer and myself lifted the Princess between us
and carried her down the street toward the cove. The village
people and their children followed us, and stood in a
throng on the beach as we got into a boat and hoisted a sail.</p>
<p>“Good-bye!” shouted the people, and the sorcerer and
myself waved our hands, none too cheerfully; and at that
moment we heard a kind of bark from the water beside the
boat, and a voice cried, “Sister!” It was the seal. The
young woman leaned down toward him and cried,
“Brother!”</p>
<p>“Is everything all right now?” said the seal. “What are
you going to do about me?”</p>
<p>His sister raised the Princess and showed him the red
mark on the Princess’s shoulder, and told him about the
plucking of the stork’s feather. Then the seal’s sister said:</p>
<p>“For once you have done a good deed, brother; and if
you’ll do another—you know the promise!—two good
deeds!—you will be free too. Go! and do not return until
you have brought that which will cure the Princess. The
milk of the White Walrus who lives in the Far-Alone
Grotto on the Twelfth Ice Floe! Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“It’s a pretty good trip,” said the seal, “and I’ll probably<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</SPAN></span>
have to fight the walruses. But if you say so, why I suppose— When
do you think I’d better start?”</p>
<p>“This instant!” cried his sister. “Off with you! And
return to us at the King’s castle at Ventamere.”</p>
<p>“Oh, very well,” said the seal, and dived. He came up
again at the mouth of the cove, making off at a great rate for
the open sea....</p>
<p>We reached the King’s castle at Ventamere in the evening,
and pressed straightway into the Grand Refectory, where
the King was at supper with his court. As we entered, the
whole company sprang up, and my father ran toward me.</p>
<h3><i>The King Beholds His Child and Is Grieved</i></h3>
<p>The sorcerer and myself, carrying the Princess, stood her
on her feet and supported her thus between us, and the seal’s
sister stood beside us.</p>
<p>“My daughter!” cried the King, and rushing toward the
Princess with outstretched arms, stopped in amazement as
she remained between us as speechless and motionless as a
statue.</p>
<p>I whispered rapidly into my father’s ear, and the sorcerer,
kneeling before the King, began to explain.</p>
<p>The King paid no attention to him, but placed a hand
upon his daughter’s arm and wept.</p>
<p>“My poor child!” he said. “What shall we do now?”</p>
<p>There was a movement at the door. A crowd of the castle
people poured into the room, and parting, opened a lane
for a young man, a stranger, who advanced rapidly from the
door; a very fat young man, with a round, pink face and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</SPAN></span>
round, blue eyes, who wore hanging from his shoulders the
skin and head of a seal.</p>
<p>“Brother!” cried the seal’s sister.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said the fat young man, “it’s me; and a pretty
little time I’ve had among the walruses, I can tell you;” and
he bowed low at the same time to the King.</p>
<p>“Have you some business with us, young sir?” said the
King.</p>
<p>“Venison steak and hasty pudding,” said the fat young
man, with his eye on the supper table. “Oh; I beg your pardon.
I am the milk man.”</p>
<p>“Milk? We want no milk here,” said the King.</p>
<p>“It’s for the Princess,” said the fat young man. “To be
taken externally. Good for lumbago, rheumatism, sprains,
chilblains, strawberry rash—”</p>
<p>“What is this fellow talking about?” said the King, in
exasperation.</p>
<p>“Brother!” said the young woman, his sister, fixing him
sternly with her eye.</p>
<p>“Rub a little on her shoulder,” said her brother. “Direct
from the White Walrus on the Twelfth Ice Floe, and the
walruses nearly ate me alive before I got it; but here it is.
Excellent for all sorts of skin and blood diseases, as well
as—”</p>
<p>“Brother!” said the young woman, sternly.</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon,” said the fat young man; and with a
very grand manner he took out of his pocket an oyster shell,
and pried it open with a knife from the table. On the lower
half of the shell was a spoonful of white liquid.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Seal Introduces His Liniment, Guaranteed to Cure in All Cases</i></h3>
<p>“Very convenient milk bottle,” said he; and waving the
King aside he stepped up to the Princess and went on pompously,
as if he were making a speech:</p>
<p>“I will now,” said he, “in the presence of the entire company,
and openly before you all, so that you may see that no
deception is practised upon you, apply a modicum of my liniment
to the shoulder of the young lady, at the point where
I perceive a stain of red, rubbing the same in gently thus,
with a downward motion of the first two fingers of the right
hand, thus, and thus, and thus.”</p>
<p>He poured the white liquid from the shell on to the red
spot on the Princess’s shoulder, and rubbed it in gently, talking
all the while.</p>
<p>“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, “I call your attention
to the effects of this lotion when properly applied.
It is warranted to be very efficacious in all cases of— But
see; she lowers her hand; she moves her foot; she speaks;
she—”</p>
<p>“Father!” cried the Princess, and threw herself into her
father’s arms.</p>
<p>“Hurrah!” I shouted, and all the company cheered, until
the rafters rang again.</p>
<p>“Let the castle people retire,” said the King, and he led
the Princess to the table, where he seated her at his right
hand, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. When we were
all at table, the sorcerer told his tale, and not until he had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</SPAN></span>
heard it to the end would the King permit the meal to proceed.
I observed that the son of the assistant carol singer
was very attentive to the seal’s sister; and as for the fat
young man her brother,—during the repast, which lasted a
full two hours, he spoke not a word.</p>
<p>At the end the King begged him to relate the story of his
enchantment and his sister’s, and he readily consented;
whereupon he commenced, without being asked a second
time,</p>
<h4>THE STORY OF THE TALKING SEAL AND HIS SISTER</h4>
<p>“You must know,” he began—</p>
<p><i>“I am very sorry,” said the Princess Dorobel, interrupting,
“but it is Bojohn’s bedtime, and I fear we shall have to
hear this story another time.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Oh, mother!” said Bojohn. “I couldn’t go to sleep if I
tried. Please don’t—”</i></p>
<p><i>“No, my dear,” said the Princess Dorobel, “not to-night.
Pray go on with Alb’s story, Solario.”</i></p>
<p>When the seal’s story was finished (said Alb), the King
begged the One-Armed Sorcerer to remain with him as his
friend and adviser; and this the sorcerer consented to do.</p>
<p>“And now,” said the King, turning to me, “what reward
shall be yours? I will deny you nothing.”</p>
<p>I knelt before him, and made my request boldly. I knew
that my whole future hung upon that moment.</p>
<p>“The hand of my lady Princess,” said I, “if she is willing.”</p>
<p>“What do you say, my dear?” said the King.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</SPAN></span>The Princess said nothing, but turned red as a rose, and
buried her head on her father’s shoulder. She was mine! I
took her hand in mine and kissed it.</p>
<p>“<i>That’s</i> settled,” said the King. “And you, sir,” said he
to the fat young man, “what gift shall I bestow upon you?”</p>
<p>“A little more of the custard pie, if you please,” said the
fat young man.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_169.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE FIFTH NIGHT<br/> <small>THE CITY OF DEAD LEAVES</small></h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><i>SOLARIO was sitting cross-legged on his worktable,
and before him, in a row, sat the Executioner, Bodkin,
Bojohn, Prince Bilbo, the Princess Dorobel, and
the Queen.</i></p>
<p><i>“</i>This <i>time,” said Bojohn, “we want to hear the story of
Montesango’s Cave.”</i></p>
<p><i>Solario shook his head. “The story is too dreadful altogether,”
said he. “I fear you would lie awake all night
if—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Then tell us about the Roving Griffin,” said Bodkin.</i></p>
<p><i>“Or the Blind Giant,” said Bojohn.</i></p>
<p><i>“I am very curious myself,” said the Princess Dorobel,
“to hear the story of the seal and his sister. What do you
say, mother?”</i></p>
<p><i>“I remember very well,” said the Queen, dropping her
knitting in her lap, “I saw a seal once when I was a young</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</SPAN></span>
<i>girl, and a very curious creature it was, too, I’m sure. I’ve
never forgotten it, because I was on my way to be married
to your father,—of course he wasn’t your father then, you
know,—and I think the day I saw the seal was the day your
father was expected to meet us, or the day before, I can’t
be quite certain now, it’s so long ago; and we were waiting
for him by the seashore,—but no, we weren’t expecting him
on that day, because he had sent a messenger to say that he
couldn’t start until all the horses were shod, and the blacksmith
was just getting over the measles. I remember that
messenger very well; a small, dark man with a beard, by the
name of—what was his name? Something like Manniko,
or Finnikin,—no, it was Tallboy. That was it. Tallboy. He
didn’t stay with the King very long after we were married,
because his sister’s youngest boy was taken down with
the—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Grandmother!” said Bojohn. “Solario is waiting to
go on.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Dear me,” said the Queen, “so he is. I’m glad I brought
my knitting with me to-night.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I am sure,” said Prince Bilbo, “we would all be glad to
hear about the seal and his sister.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Your will is my pleasure,” said Solario, very prettily,
“and I will therefore now commence the story of—”</i></p>
<p><i>Here there was a sharp cry from outside the room door.</i></p>
<p><i>“Let me in!” piped up a voice, loud and sharp as a
whistle.</i></p>
<p><i>Mortimer the Executioner opened the door, and at first
glance there appeared to be no one there. But Bojohn cried</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</SPAN></span>
<i>out, “It’s the Encourager!” And there, on the sill, was in
fact the tiny figure of the Encourager, no taller than a sparrow,
carrying his umbrella folded under his arm. He opened
the umbrella, and leaping into the air floated up with it to
the Executioner’s shoulder, where, folding the umbrella
again, he stood bowing to the company.</i></p>
<p><i>“Dear me,” said the Queen, “I believe it’s the Encourager
of the Interrupter.”</i></p>
<p><i>“If there’s anything going on,” piped up the Encourager,
in his shrill voice, “I don’t want to be left out!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Then sit down, Mortimer,” said Prince Bilbo, “and let
the Encourager hear the story too.”</i></p>
<p><i>The Executioner seated himself, and the Encourager sat
down on the Executioner’s shoulder and gazed solemnly at
Solario with his beady black eyes.</i></p>
<p><i>“Ahem!” said Solario, clearing his throat and picking up
his shears. “I will now, with your majesty’s gracious permission,
proceed with the story as it was related to the assembled
company at Ventamere by the seal, and by Alb the
Fortunate to myself. This, then, is</i></p>
<h4>“THE STORY OF TUSH THE APOTHECARY, AND OF
PARAVAINE HIS SISTER.”</h4>
<p>I must tell you (said the fat young man), that I am an
apothecary, and my name is Tush.</p>
<p><i>“We had a Lord Treasurer once,” interrupted the Queen,
“whose name was Filch. It seemed so odd.”</i></p>
<p>My name is Tush; and this damsel, my sister, who was
lately a Ragpicker, is known as Paravaine. So much for<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</SPAN></span>
that. I now proceed to the catastrophe which begins my
tale, and I hope you will pardon me if I pause at times to
wipe away a tear.</p>
<p>We were left alone at an early age, my sister and myself,
without kith or kin, and we dwelt together in the city of our
birth, the city of Fadz—you have heard of Fadz? A seaport
of the Kingdom of Wen, a city of ships and conversation;
and in that city we dwelt quietly together, and there I
kept my shop.</p>
<p>My sister, as you may see by looking at her, was beautiful
in the highest degree; and I am bound to admit to you that
she was not a little vain of her beauty, and prized admiration
above all things in the world. Regarding myself, I may
say that I was considered to be quite handsome, though a
trifle fat.</p>
<p>In the art of inventing remedies I greatly excelled; and I
would beyond a doubt have succeeded in my profession, but
that I was much given to the making of songs and the tasting
of rare dishes, and these two occupations consumed the
greater part of my days. My sister, on her part, applied herself
so diligently to the adornment of her lovely person before
the mirror, that she had scarcely time for anything else.
In consequence, my business and my house fell into neglect;
and another apothecary, a tuneless fellow in a neighboring
street, who knew not beef from mutton, took away all my
trade. But such is the fate of your true artist, the world
over.</p>
<p>I forgot, in the application necessary for the composition
of songs, the foolish moneys which I chanced to owe here<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</SPAN></span>
and there, and at length (so dead to the finer things of life
is the coarse mind of trade), I could find no one who was
willing to trust us any longer, even for the meanest knuckle
of the least respectable portion of a pig. I burn with indignation
when I think of it,—but I proceed.</p>
<h3><i>The Misfortunes of Tush the Apothecary</i></h3>
<p>I soon found out what monsters in the shape of men—However.
Certain churls, men of no character, no elevation,
no refinement,—forgive me; I am not quite myself; these
men, if I may call them men, to whom I owed, I believe,
some trifling sums of no account, came to my shop one morning
in a body, fifteen or so; and if you can believe a thing so
monstrous, they seized, they tore away, they loaded into
oxcarts in the street, in the broad light of day, all the goods
of my shop and all the furnishings of my house. I wept, I
threatened, I raved; but all to no purpose. They answered
never so much as a word; they departed, and left my sister
and myself without so much as a chair to sit on, or one coin
to jingle against another.</p>
<p><i>“Now that,” said the Queen, “was going entirely too far.
However did they expect the poor man to sit down?”</i></p>
<p>One thing I entreated them to spare me, my Perfection
Cream, a salve or ointment of my own invention, warranted
to relieve in all cases of affliction of the skin; a remedy
which I had compounded many years before, and had tried
once or twice on myself with good results. Of this, having
never sold any, I had on hand, in little jars, a quite considerable
quantity. They left me this, with contempt; and my sister,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</SPAN></span>
observing it, begged them to spare to her of her own
possessions one thing only, her mirror, a handglass backed
with blue enamel, with a long handle of the same; and this
also they granted, not without a jeer.</p>
<p>We sat for a long time upon the barren floor; and then
we rose, and shaking the dust of the place from our feet, we
departed, never to return. In a pouch at my side I carried
my Perfection Cream, and in her hand my sister carried her
blue mirror; and thus we went forth, to try our fortunes in
the world.</p>
<p>We sought the wharves, designing to take ship for some
distant clime; and we found, in fact, a vessel loading for a
voyage. The ship’s master was sitting on a bale, directing
the porters, and I addressed him politely, explaining our
case. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head; but
he happened to turn around and catch sight of my sister,
and his manner changed. He jumped to his feet, bowed, and
begged us to come aboard.</p>
<p>In effect, we sailed away. My heart was light again. The
city faded behind us, the sunlight sparkled on the waves; and
I was none the less happy because I had not the least idea
where we were going. I composed a song regarding life on
the ocean wave, and sang it with ecstasy, until my sister
begged me to stop.</p>
<p>The master of the ship treated us with distinguished
courtesy; I could not help contrasting his conduct with that
of the cold-blooded men who had— But I resolved to
think of them no more. I gave myself up to the pleasures of
the voyage.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>They Find Themselves on an Unknown Shore</i></h3>
<p>On the third day, when we were sailing offshore in a light
breeze, my sister came to me in tears. The master of the
ship had demanded that she marry him, as the price of our
passage. I went to him at once, and remonstrated with him
patiently. It was no use. He was set upon marrying my
sister. We left the matter to Paravaine herself, and she rejected
the proposal with scorn. “You see!” said I, throwing
up my hands in despair. “Yes, I see,” said the mariner.
“You wish to go ashore. I will not detain you any longer.”
The ship was brought in closer to the shore, a boat was lowered,
and my sister and myself (I assure you the black-hearted
scoundrel bowed to us politely to the last)—my
sister and myself were landed on a sandy beach, and the ship
sailed away.</p>
<p><i>“Now isn’t that a perfect shame,” said the Queen. “And
such a nice young man, too.”</i></p>
<p>We stood for a time in silence, petrified with despair. A
vast, treeless plain stretched away beyond the beach, far as
the eye could see; there was no human habitation anywhere.
Not an ounce of food nor a copper coin did we have between
us,—nothing but my Perfection Cream and my sister’s blue
mirror. We were at our wits’ end.</p>
<p>“Let us sit down and think what we had better do,” said
I, and I led my sister to a brown rock embedded in the sand
at no great distance. It was a large rock, round and smooth,
and we sat down with our backs against it, gazing mournfully<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</SPAN></span>
at the Great Sea, where it sparkled in the sunlight. It
was a beautiful sight, and I began to think up a new song.</p>
<p><i>“I always used to say,” said the Queen, “that the sea was
a very pretty thing, but the King never could abide it. He
used to get</i> so <i>sick! And he finally declared he would never
put his foot on a boat as long as he— Dear me! I remember
a sailor on one of our trips who had a parrot that used to
talk—Oh, dear! Such things as he did say! Oh, dear! Oh,
dear! When I think of them!”</i></p>
<p><i>“All right, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Go on, Solario.”</i></p>
<p>As we sat there (said the fat young man) with our backs
against the brown rock, I amused myself by plucking away
idly certain blades of long brown grass which fringed the
lower portion of the rock near my hand; and these blades
I twined, scarce thinking what I did, into a ring of a size to
fit a finger. Instead of putting it on my own finger, I took
my sister’s hand and placed the ring, jestingly, on the first
finger of her right hand.</p>
<h3><i>The Startling Effect of Making a Ring of Grass</i></h3>
<p>No sooner was this done than a kind of groan came from
the rock. The sand on which we sat heaved and shuddered.
It rose beneath us, and we were lifted slowly into the air;
and when we were higher than a man’s height above the
ground we were thrown off on to the beach, and we were
looking up at a monstrous creature in the shape of a man,
who had risen up under us from beneath the sand. He was
chocolate brown in color, and he towered above us full seven<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</SPAN></span>
yards or more. The rock against which we had been sitting
was, as we now perceived, his head; he had been lying, no
doubt asleep, on his stomach under the sand, completely
covered except for his head. We had been sitting above his
buried shoulders, and leaning against the back of his head;
and from this head, all bald but for a fringe of hair at the
bottom, I had plucked the hairs which I had thought were
grass.</p>
<p>“A genie!” I cried, and pulled my sister to her feet in
fright.</p>
<p>The genie opened his mouth in a great yawn, and stretched
his mighty arms; and as he breathed out again, jets of flame
shot from his nostrils. He was bare, except for a wide cloth
twisted around his middle from waist to thigh, and in the
waistband he wore a long, curved scimitar, which flashed in
the sun. He spread his hands out before him and bowed low.</p>
<p>“Were you asleep in the sand?” said my sister, recovering
her wits first.</p>
<p>He bowed again.</p>
<p>“What do you want with us?” said my sister, becoming
bolder.</p>
<p>“I await your commands,” said the genie, in a voice like
the roaring of a waterfall.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said my sister. “Is it the ring of hair on my finger?
Is that it?”</p>
<p>He bowed again, extending his hands.</p>
<p>“Then please! please! take us away from here!” cried
my sister.</p>
<p>“What is it you seek?” said the genie.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</SPAN></span>“We seek the best thing in the world!” cried my sister.
“Take us where we may find it!”</p>
<p>“What do you mean by the best thing in the world?” said
I to my sister.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said she; “but the genie ought to know,
and he’ll take us where we may find it. Won’t you?” said
she, looking up at him.</p>
<p>“Hearing is obedience!” said the genie, and little jets of
fire spurted from his nostrils.</p>
<p>“Where will you take us?” said I.</p>
<p>“I will take you where you may find the best thing in the
world,” said the genie. “And if you find it, it will be the best
thing in the world for me too, because it will release me from
the power of the One-Armed Sorcerer, who dwells in an
island far out in the Great Sea. If you don’t find it, it will
be your own fault, and in that case,—beware!”</p>
<p>“This sounds pretty doubtful,” said I.</p>
<p>“No matter!” cried my sister. “We will find it. Take us
there at once!”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_178fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">The genie flew away with Tush and his sister</p>
<h3><i>They Start Upon a Journey Through the Air</i></h3>
<p>The genie stooped down over us, and under his right arm
he gathered me up, and under his left arm he gathered up
my sister. He stamped upon the earth so that it shook, and
leaped into the air; and in an instant we were soaring over
the treeless plain, and I was sick with dizziness. Higher and
higher we mounted, with the speed of an arrow; we seemed
to be flying straight into the face of the sun; I could no<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</SPAN></span>
longer tell which was sea and which was plain below. I
closed my eyes.</p>
<p>It was a long time before I opened them again. We were
lower, and I could see the plain, flat and grassy, without a
tree. The sun declined, and still we kept our course; I
thought we should soon be at the end of the world; and
still there were no trees anywhere on the plain below us.</p>
<p>I ached in every limb; I cried out, but the genie did not
hear me; and when I was ready to faint with exhaustion his
speed suddenly relaxed, and I saw, at the edge of the horizon
before me, what was, or seemed to be, a city. And still
there were no trees.</p>
<p>Scarcely a moment passed before the city rose in plain
view; and with a swoop the genie descended upon the earth,
and we were standing, all three of us, before a gate in the
city wall, and my sister was arranging her hair before her
mirror.</p>
<p>A tall and muscular man stood beside the gate, as if on
guard. He was chocolate brown in color, and he was bare
except for a wide cloth twisted about his middle from waist
to thigh, and in his right hand he carried a scimitar, which
flashed in the sunlight. I looked around for the genie, but
he was gone.</p>
<p>“What city is this?” said I to the Guardian of the Gate.</p>
<p>“It is the City of Dead Leaves,” said the man. “What
do you seek in the city?”</p>
<p>“We are seeking,” said my sister, “the best thing in the
world. We were told that we would find it here.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” said the Guardian, looking at my sister. “You are<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</SPAN></span>
she who has come to save the King’s brother. Come with
me.”</p>
<p>He led the way through the gate, and we found ourselves
in an alley of high walls, along which we followed him for
some distance, coming out upon an open plot of grass, surrounded
by the same high walls in a circle. As we approached
it, I smelled a familiar fragrance, the fragrance of
orange blossoms; and I thought with some regret of the
groves upon our slopes at home.</p>
<h3><i>The Orange Tree and the Panther</i></h3>
<p>In the center of this plot was an orange tree. It was green
with foliage and white with blossoms; the odor was delicious.
Under the tree, prowling stealthily around it, was
a panther. I drew back in alarm. “Do not go too close,”
said our guide. “It is death to touch the tree.”</p>
<p>I had no desire to approach that terrible beast, and we
gave him a wide berth as we proceeded around the rim of
the grassplot to an opening in the opposite wall. We passed
through that opening into a city street; a street of glass, as
it seemed, for the front wall of every house was made of
glass; and within, in every case, was a kind of storeroom,
piled up with something which looked like dead leaves. In
the greater houses these rooms were piled quite full; in the
meaner there were only little mounds; but much or little,
they appeared to be on exhibition, as if in pride.</p>
<p>“The treasures of our people,” said the Guardian of the
Gate. “Dead orange leaves. Our most precious possession.
The wealth and station of each citizen are gauged by his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</SPAN></span>
store of dead leaves. It is of course only proper to put them
where they may be seen. But come; the King’s brother
awaits us.”</p>
<p>I nudged my sister. “The King’s brother!” I whispered.
“Here is a chance for you!” She smiled, and glanced into
her mirror.</p>
<p>We wound through many streets of glass, and I observed
that besides glass the houses contained no material but stone
and metal; the absence of wood was very noticeable. We
turned down a mean street toward the city wall, and came
out upon a common, strewn with refuse of all kinds, and
bounded on the further side by the wall. A shelter of canvas
leaned against the wall, and beneath this shelter, on a pallet
of straw, lay a man in rags. He raised himself on his elbow
and looked up at us.</p>
<p>“The King’s brother,” said our guide, and I started back
in surprise.</p>
<h3><i>They Come Upon the King’s Brother in Rags</i></h3>
<p>He was a young man, and very ugly, but not unpleasant
to look at; indeed, his ugliness had something honest and
winning in it; and if he had not been so ragged, he might
have made a passable appearance. As it was, I laughed to
myself at the thought of such a fellow in connection with my
beautiful sister.</p>
<p>The ugly young man stood up and bowed politely.</p>
<p>“Is it the first stranger?” said he to the Guardian of the
Gate.</p>
<p>“It is,” said the Guardian.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</SPAN></span>“I am content,” said the young man, casting on my sister
a look of admiration.</p>
<p>“Fair lady,” he went on, dropping on one knee and taking
her hand, “if you are not pledged elsewhere, I beseech you
to accept me as a suitor for your hand. Stay; do not repulse
me at my first word, but hear me further, and take time to
consider. I am the King’s younger brother; and because I
would not marry a lady of his choosing, he has cast me out,
swearing that I shall remain in this misery unless I shall
marry the first stranger who shall come to our gates. Oh,
fortunate hour that brought you here the first of all! I am
poor; I do not possess a single leaf; but I will devote myself
to you loyally, and I do not think you will regret it. I know,
having seen you, that I cannot live without you. Do not
refuse me now, but at the end of a week give me your
answer.”</p>
<p>He kissed her hand fervently, and arose. I confess that
I liked this young man, but of course I could not think of
marrying my sister to one so utterly forlorn. I answered
for her.</p>
<p>“In a week I will let you know,” said I, and drew my
sister away.</p>
<p>“Before you go,” said he, “let me give you a warning.
Look at my hands.”</p>
<p>He held out his palms, and I saw that they were covered
with a rash, red and angry-looking. He rubbed his palms
together, as if to soothe an irritation.</p>
<p>“The itching palms!” said he. “I have handled the dead
leaves all my life; and because I have handled them my<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</SPAN></span>
palms itch, itch, all day and night, without ever a moment’s
peace. I warn you not to touch the dead leaves. The dead
leaves of the orange tree; do not touch them.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” said I, and with these words we left him.</p>
<p>The Guardian of the Gate, leading us back into the city
streets, turned and said:</p>
<p>“You have just had your first chance to gain the best
thing in the world. I will now give you your second. Be
careful how you choose.”</p>
<p>We entered a street of shops; and I now noticed that the
people were, each of them, rubbing their palms together, as
if to soothe an intolerable itching.</p>
<p>I paused to look into one of the shops as we passed. The
customers within were handing over to the dealer, in return
for his goods, leaves, dead leaves, of the sort we had seen
in the glass showrooms; and whenever these dead leaves
passed from hand to hand, I remarked that the itching of
the palm they touched became more exasperating, so that
the people were quite beside themselves, and could not keep
quiet on their feet; but the dealer nevertheless received the
dead leaves eagerly, and the others gave them up with reluctance.</p>
<p>“These people are mad,” said I.</p>
<p>We joined a great rout of people, all rubbing their hands,
who were pouring down a street in the direction of an open
square; and when we reached it, we saw in the center, on a
platform above the heads of the crowd, a man in a robe,
who was evidently about to read from a paper held in his
hand.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</SPAN></span>“Your second chance,” said the Guardian of the Gate.
“I will leave you to your choice. Be careful how you
choose.”</p>
<p>He turned away, and disappeared in the crowd.</p>
<p>“Hear ye! Hear ye!” cried the man on the platform. “A
message from the King! Whereas the affliction of the itching
palm has now become so grievous that it can no longer
be endured, the King now offers, to such person as shall
cure him, one-half of all the dead leaves in his treasury!
And to him also he promises one-half of all the dead leaves
belonging to each person whom he shall cure! The offer is
open to all! Be diligent! Thus saith the King!”</p>
<p>The messenger got down, and immediately there arose
near the platform a commotion, with much laughter, and
those in that neighborhood began to cry out:</p>
<p>“Way for the Lord Buffo! Make way for the wise Lord
Buffo!”</p>
<h3><i>A Dwarf Clad in Motley Stands up to Speak</i></h3>
<p>A singular figure now mounted the platform, facing in
our direction. He was a dwarf, hunchbacked and thickset,
with a very large head set deep in his shoulders, and arms
which hung to his knees. His clothing was of squares of
yellow and blue and green and orange, and on his head he
wore a paper crown, rimmed around at the top with little
bells. With his right hand he pulled up by a cord a small
monkey, dressed in all respects like himself; and in his other
hand he held the long tail feather of a cock.</p>
<p>“The King’s Fool,” said one of the bystanders in my ear.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</SPAN></span>The Fool waved the feather, and the crowd settled itself
to listen.</p>
<p>“Hear ye! Hear ye!” he cried, in a loud, harsh voice.</p>
<p>At this the people shouted, “Go on, go on!”</p>
<p>The monkey leaped up on to the dwarf’s shoulder, and
the dwarf proceeded, with the greatest gravity.</p>
<p>“I, Buffo, chief counselor to his most gracious majesty,
King Fatchaps, do call upon you to hearken to the voice
of Wisdom!”</p>
<p>“Wisdom! That’s good!” laughed the crowd,—never
ceasing to rub their palms and dance up and down the while.</p>
<p>“First I must tell you, my loyal subjects, that you are all
mad. Do you believe it?”</p>
<p>“Yes! yes! Of course!” shouted the crowd, still laughing.</p>
<p>“Give ear, and I will prove it to you! Thus! Answer
me! Isn’t there enough in our city for all, to feed you and
clothe you and shelter you and amuse you? Answer!”</p>
<p>“True!” cried many persons in the throng.</p>
<p>“Then why are there some among you who starve, and
others who cast out of their abundance to the dogs? Tell me
that!”</p>
<p>No one replied.</p>
<p>“Because you are mad! With the itching palm! Look
at you! You can’t stand still on your feet! Rub, rub! Want
in the midst of plenty! Scratch, scratch! Some with too little
and some with too much! Rub, rub! And enough for everybody
in reason! Scratch, scratch! All mad, all mad! Rub,
rub! Look at me—have I itching palms?” He held up his
hands, palms outward.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</SPAN></span>“No!” exclaimed several in the crowd.</p>
<p>“Tell me why! Tell me why! Because I touch not the
dead leaves! Isn’t it so?”</p>
<p>No one answered.</p>
<p>“Give ear, madmen, and I will reveal to you how to cure
the itching palm! Bring the dead orange leaves here to the
square! Pile them up! Burn them, burn them, burn them,
every one! That’s it! Will you give up the dead leaves?”</p>
<p>“No!” roared the people as if with one voice.</p>
<p>“Then farewell, madmen!” cried the Fool, and he jerked
the monkey from his shoulder and descended from the platform.</p>
<p>The people, still rubbing their hands together and dancing,
but laughing withal, rapidly left the square, and my
sister and myself started to go; and as we started, the dwarf
appeared before us with his monkey, and cocked his eye up
at us waggishly.</p>
<p>“What, ho!” said the Fool. “Strangers, by the ears of a
donkey! Greeting, strangers, what do you among my mad
subjects?”</p>
<p>“To tell you the truth, my lord,” said I, making up my
mind on the spur of the moment, “I have come here with my
sister from a distant land, to cure the people and their
King of the itching palm.”</p>
<p>“How so?” said the hunchback, sharply.</p>
<p>“With a little remedy of my own,” said I, tapping my
pouch.</p>
<p>“Bah!” said the Fool, jerking the monkey’s cord. “Go
home, madman, you are wasting your time.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</SPAN></span>“One moment!” I said. “Conduct me to the King, I beg
you. You shall see me prove my boast.”</p>
<p>He looked up at me sidewise. “Pouf!” said he, snapping
his fingers. “Old Fatchaps is as big a fool as you are. Here;
I’ll give you a chance; there’s nobody here to help me. I ask
you, will you help me? I have a plan to gather the leaves
together and burn them. With your help I can do it, and we
will save the people together. Will you help?”</p>
<p>“Not I,” said I, laughing again. “The people would tear
us both to pieces.”</p>
<p>“What does that matter?” said the Fool.</p>
<p>“It matters to me,” said I.</p>
<p>“Is that your choice?” said the Fool. “You have made
your choice? Done, then. Come with me. I will take you to
the King; and you will wish that I hadn’t. Oh, these fools!
The time is coming when I must take the case in hand myself,
all alone; for I will tell you a secret; lend me your ear.”
He pulled my head down, and whispered fiercely in my ear.
“I love this people, and I will save them; whether they will
or no. D’ye hear? They are my people, and they must be
saved! Whether they will or no! And then what a bonfire!
What a bonfire!”</p>
<p>He jerked the monkey’s cord again, and made off swiftly.
We followed him, and my sister said to me, in a low voice,
“Do you think he is mad?”</p>
<p>“That,” said I, “is precisely what I do not know.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>Buffo the Fool Leads Them to the Palace</i></h3>
<p>In a few moments we entered and crossed the grounds of
an immense palace, and Buffo the Fool opened the palace
door without ceremony and preceded us into a great hall,
where he stopped and said:</p>
<p>“I must have a good look at you first. Buffino, my
mirror!”</p>
<p>The monkey darted off down the hall and up the staircase.
While he was gone the Fool said to me:</p>
<p>“You have seen the orange tree and the panther?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said I.</p>
<p>“Do they worship the orange tree in your country?”</p>
<p>“No, no,” said I. “Orange trees are the commonest of
our possessions. We have them by thousands. Their leaves
are of no account.”</p>
<p>“So?” said he, with a look which said that he did not
believe it. “We have no tree in all this city, nor anywhere
in all this land, but a single orange tree. No one knows how
the seed came here. We worship that tree; nothing else.”</p>
<p>“A very pretty sentiment,” said I. “Nothing could be
prettier.”</p>
<p>“Hideous!” said he. “The leaves that drop from that
tree and die are the cause of all our evil. We fight over
them, we steal them, we waste our lives in getting them, and
we suffer the agony of the itching palm when they are ours.
Will you help me destroy the panther that guards the
tree?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</SPAN></span>“Certainly not,” said I with a shiver.</p>
<p>“You have made your choice,” said the Fool. “Buffino,
give me the mirror.”</p>
<p>The monkey, who had now returned, handed to the dwarf
a large mirror, and the Fool held it up before my sister.</p>
<p>Instead of the beautiful person of my sister appeared in
the glass the face and figure of an old woman, bent, ugly,
and wrinkled. My sister started back in dismay, and the
dwarf held up the mirror before myself. It showed me a
gross, puffy face with three chins and pig’s eyes, horribly repulsive.
I shuddered.</p>
<p>“Just as I thought,” said the Fool. “Tell me now, have
you seen the King’s brother?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said I.</p>
<p>“Will you marry him?” said he to my sister.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said she. “How could I? I can’t say. I’m—”</p>
<p>“Just as I thought,” said the dwarf. “And you won’t
help me cure my people. What is it you came here to seek?”</p>
<p>“We are seeking the best thing in the world,” said I.</p>
<p>“And what is that?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know; but we’ll certainly recognize it when we
find it.”</p>
<p>“Not you,” said the dwarf; “not until my mirror shows
you fair and comely; <i>then</i> you’ll know it.”</p>
<p>“How are we to get it to show us fair and comely?”
said I.</p>
<p>“One of you by saving a miserable outcast, and the other
by saving a whole people; then you’ll be fair and comely,
inside and out, but not until then.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</SPAN></span>“You talk in riddles, master Buffo,” said I. “Let us go to
the King.”</p>
<p>“Madman!” said the dwarf, and gave the mirror back to
the monkey, who scampered off with it and disappeared.</p>
<p>We followed the Fool up the great staircase and into a
distant wing of the palace, and stopped at a door, on which
the hunchback knocked. Receiving no answer, he opened the
door and led us in. “Your majesty!” he cried.</p>
<h3><i>They Find the King in a Terrible State</i></h3>
<p>The King was pacing the floor, grinding and scratching
his palms together, and muttering angrily to himself. He
was an enormous man with a puffy, red face, a snub nose, and
three chins, and he wheezed as he walked. His hair stood
up on end all over his head as if it was trying to fly off. His
fat legs went back and forth in a kind of tripping run, and
his fat hands rubbed and scratched and slapped each other
in a perfect frenzy.</p>
<p>“What, what!” he cried, never halting for an instant.
“What’s the matter, what’s the matter?”</p>
<p>“Stop a minute, King Fatchaps!” said the Fool. “Here’s
a madman come to cure your itching palms! Ha, ha!”</p>
<p>“What do you say? What do you say?” said the King,
dancing along, back and forth.</p>
<p>“It is true, your majesty,” said I.</p>
<p>“You can cure me? What do you say? You’re an impostor!
They’re all impostors! Can you cure me? Why
don’t you do it then?”</p>
<p>“I understand,” said I, “that a reward is offered—”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</SPAN></span>“Well, well? What of it?” said the King, wheezing and
puffing. “Half of my dead leaves! What of it?”</p>
<p>“The fact is,” said I, “we should prefer gold or silver.”</p>
<p>“Impudence!” cried the King. “Gold? Silver? What
do you mean? I never heard of them.”</p>
<p>“He’ll take the leaves, never fear,” said the dwarf. “Oh,
yes.”</p>
<p>“Take ’em!” cried the King. “Who is the beautiful lady?
Take ’em? Dead leaves or nothing! Take ’em or leave
’em!”</p>
<p>It was plain that a fortune of dead leaves was as good as
any other, if you only thought it so, and if these people
thought it so, as they evidently did, I might as well take it.</p>
<p>“I am satisfied, your majesty,” said I, “and if you will
hold out your palm, I will work the cure.”</p>
<h3><i>The Perfection Cream Is Rubbed into the Itching Palm</i></h3>
<p>The King held out his left hand as he passed, and I trotted
along beside him, and drawing from my pouch one of
my little jars, I applied to the King’s palm, with my fingers,
a small portion of my salve, rubbing it in as well as I could;
and then I ran around to his other side, and did the same for
his other hand. It was rather difficult, considering that I had
to trot along beside him as he tripped back and forth across
the carpet.</p>
<p>“What, what, what! Bless my soul!” cried the King,
stopping suddenly. “It feels better!”</p>
<p>I bowed and smiled, and Buffo the Fool said, “Mad, old
Fatchaps! Both of you mad!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</SPAN></span>“Speak when you’re spoken to!” said the King. “Who
asked your opinion? Pfoo! pfoo! I haven’t any breath left!
Not another word out of you, sir! I know when I’m cured!
I’m no fool, I’m no fool!”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, not at all!” said the Fool.</p>
<p>“Here, you!” said the King. “Take this young man and
his wife and feed ’em, and let ’em sleep in the palace. I’ll
settle with ’em in the morning, if the itching’s gone. I’m no
fool.”</p>
<p>“Not my wife,—my sister,” said I, bowing.</p>
<p>“What do you say?” cried the King. “Oh, that’s different!”</p>
<p>He bowed before my sister, and kissed her hand very
respectfully.</p>
<p>“Bless my soul! Beautiful as a moonbeam! What do you
say? Where do you come from, eh? The itching’s gone.
But I’ll wait till morning. I’m no fool. Be off with you,
clown, and let ’em eat and sleep in the palace. What do you
say? He shall cure the whole city, and I’ll make ’em give
up half of all their dead leaves to him! In the morning, in
the morning! What do you say? Be off with you!”</p>
<p>We hastily left him, and as we passed down the hall we
saw him poke his head out of the door and heard him call:</p>
<p>“Ho! I’m cured! Where’s that confounded chamberlain?
Send me the chamberlain! What do you say? I’m
cured!” And he banged the door shut again.</p>
<p>That night we dined sumptuously and slept in gorgeous
apartments in the palace. In the morning, being once more
conducted by Buffo to the King, we found him in a transport<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</SPAN></span>
of happiness. The cure was perfect. He kissed my sister’s
hand, and threw his arms about me, and cried:</p>
<p>“It’s yours! Half of my dead leaves, and I’ll make a
Prince out of you! Not a word! What do you say? Never
woke up once last night! Get to work and cure all my people.
Where’s that confounded chamberlain? Get to work,
get to work!”</p>
<h3><i>Tush the Apothecary Takes the People in Hand</i></h3>
<p>The arrangements were soon made. I took my stand on
the palace steps, and all day long the people filed before me,
and into each palm I rubbed a little of my salve. It was a
work of days, and all business stopped until my task was
done. At the end, the city was cured; never were there in
this world a people so beside themselves with joy.</p>
<p>In the square where I had first met the King’s Fool the
King caused to be thrown up, with five hundred pairs of
willing hands, a vat of hardened mud in blocks, and into this
vat his servants poured for me a good full half of all the
dead orange leaves in his treasury, and on top of these, from
each of those whom I had cured, one-half of his store of
leaves; so that when all was done the vat was just half full.
I was rich; richer than the King himself; and my Perfection
Cream was all gone.</p>
<p>I hinted to the King that some kind of covering should be
provided for the vat, to protect my riches from the weather.</p>
<p>“What, what?” said he, his face growing a trifle purple.
“There’s no rain at this time of year! What do you say?
All in good time! I can’t do everything in a minute!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</SPAN></span>Now it came to pass, as you may guess, that the King
grew daily more smitten with my sister’s beauty. Scarcely
a day passed on which he did not visit us in the splendid
apartments in his palace which he had given us for our own.
His favors became more lavish as time went on; they could
have only one meaning. “You shall be Queen!” said I to
my sister, and she smiled knowingly.</p>
<p>We were expecting, one evening, a visit from the King,
when the Fool entered our apartment, and behind him came,
instead of the King, the King’s ugly brother. I was startled,
for I had forgotten him completely.</p>
<p>He knelt beside my sister, and took her hand tenderly
in his.</p>
<p>“Dear lady,” he said, “I do not blame you that you have
neglected your promise. I have stolen here at great risk
to lay myself again at your feet. Surely a loyal heart must
weigh with you more than rank or riches. Ah, dear lady,
say that you will be mine!”</p>
<p>I confess that there was something about this young man
which made me like him better than before; but of course
a match such as he proposed was out of the question.</p>
<p>My sister shook her head and drew away her hand. “I
cannot, I cannot,” she said.</p>
<p>“Tell me,” he said, “do you think well of me—do you
care for me a little—do you think you can say you love me,
ever so little?”</p>
<p>“I do! I do!” cried my sister, to my amazement, hiding
her face in her hands. “I loved you on the first day I saw
you! I can’t help it! I do!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</SPAN></span>“Ah, then,” said the young man, rising, while I on my
part remained speechless with astonishment, “what’s to
hinder? You are mine!”</p>
<p>“No, no,” said my sister, weeping, “it can never be.”</p>
<p>“Is it because I am poor and friendless?”</p>
<p>My sister said never a word.</p>
<p>“Is it because you prize rank and wealth more than love?”</p>
<p>Still my sister said nothing.</p>
<p>The young man hesitated, and stooping to kiss her hand,
he said, “I have received my answer;” and with these words
he strode mournfully to the door. But she did not look up
at him, and with a sigh of deep grief he left us.</p>
<h3><i>Paravaine Has Made Her Choice</i></h3>
<p>“The wrong choice once more,” said the Fool, and he,
too, went his way.</p>
<p>My sister had hardly dried her eyes when there came a
knock upon the door behind her, and the King entered. She
did not turn round, and the King tripped in silently on his
toes, putting a finger roguishly to his lips and shaking all
over with mirth; and coming up behind her he placed his
two fat hands over her eyes, wagging his eyebrows up and
down at me.</p>
<p>“Guess who it is!” he cried, wheezing. “What do you
say? It’s somebody come a-wooing! Never mind who! Ha,
ha, ha! Guess who it is, and to-morrow you’ll be Queen!
What do you say? Pouf! Pah! I’m all out of breath. It’s
somebody that wants you to be his Queen. Guess! The
most beautiful Queen in the whole—”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</SPAN></span>He stopped suddenly. The King’s Fool and his monkey
had slipped into the room behind him and were standing before
my sister, and the dwarf was holding up his mirror before
my sister’s face.</p>
<p>“What, what, what!” cried the King in a rage, taking
away his hands from my sister’s eyes. “What do you mean?
Out of my sight, Fool! Away! Begone!”</p>
<p>The dwarf held the mirror higher, shaking with laughter
the while, and my sister gazed into it. I saw her shudder and
turn pale, and then she screamed and buried her face in her
hands.</p>
<p>The King, staring likewise into the mirror, turned purple
and remained as if frozen with horror. He shook himself,
and gave a choking gasp.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” he cried. “It’s the—what a— Take it
away. She’s an old woman! She’s a witch! What a— I’m
no fool, it’s a trick, I knew it all the time! Take her
away! She’s an old woman. You can’t play tricks on me, I
won’t have it, I won’t stand it. She’s a witch! I’m going.
I won’t stay. It’s a trick. I’m no fool!”</p>
<p>With these words, puffing and wheezing, he trotted on
his fat legs out of the room.</p>
<p>“No marriage yet,” said the Fool, looking at me queerly,
and he ran after the King, pulling his monkey along with
him.</p>
<h3><i>He Finds Himself Rubbing His Palms Together</i></h3>
<p>That night, as I stood before my mirror, undressing, and
comforting myself with the thought of all the magnificence<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</SPAN></span>
I had acquired and would acquire with my dead orange
leaves, I found myself rubbing the palm of my right hand
with the fingers of my left. I was aware of a slight itching
in the palm.</p>
<p>At breakfast in the morning, I noticed that my sister, who
was very sober, would now and then scratch the palm of her
right hand; but I said nothing, and in the afternoon, without
questioning her on the subject of her love for the King’s
brother, I prepared to visit the King, to try if I could not
bring him back to reason. I was ready to leave, when my
sister broke into my room, crying out frantically:</p>
<p>“I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it! The itching in my
palms! It won’t stop for a moment! I can’t sit still! It’s
growing worse and worse! Oh, brother, cure it, cure it, or
I shall go mad!”</p>
<p>She walked up and down the room in a frenzy, rubbing
her palms together. I tried in vain to pacify her, and at
length I left her and betook myself to the King.</p>
<p>On my way the itching of the night before returned, and
this time I felt it in both my hands. I knew that my sister
and myself, in common with the King and all his subjects,
had been handling the dead leaves freely since I had worked
the cure, and I began to be uneasy.</p>
<p>When I knocked at the King’s door the voice of the Fool
said “Come in,” and I found the King running with his tripping
step up and down the room, rubbing his hands, and beside
him trotted the Fool and the monkey.</p>
<p>“Imbecile!” cried the King, without stopping for an instant.
“You shall die the death! A trick, a trick! And<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</SPAN></span>
half of my dead leaves gone for nothing! A death in boiling
oil! What do you say? Don’t answer me! My hands, my
hands! Worse than before! You shall suffer, you shall
suffer! A slow death! Why don’t you speak? What are
you going to do?”</p>
<p>“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Fool. “He’s been handling
the dead leaves again, and so have you all. It’ll be my turn
soon! My turn soon!”</p>
<p>“Patience, your majesty,” said I, rubbing my hands. “I
will go to work at once and prepare more of my salve. Have
no fear. I will cure you instantly. I am off to my work.”</p>
<h3><i>He Cannot Find the Ingredients for Making the Salve</i></h3>
<p>“Pouf! Pah!” said the King, angrily, and I ran from the
room, to find the ingredients necessary for my salve. But
alas, they were not to be found. I sent everywhere; the city
was scoured; but it was no use; I was in despair. Such simples
as could be found I gathered together, and of these I
made a new remedy,—far different from my old, but it was
the best I could do. I tried it on myself, and felt an almost
instant relief. I shouted with joy.</p>
<p>I returned to the King, and as I passed an open window
in the great hall I heard the muttering of many voices outside,
and I saw a great concourse of people in the palace
grounds, all talking angrily, and all rubbing their hands and
dancing on their toes in anguish. They began to shout my
name, and I knew that if I should fall among them in their
present temper I should be lost.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</SPAN></span>The King was trotting up and down as before, and the
dwarf and the monkey were running along beside him.</p>
<p>“What, what?” he cried. “What now? No tricks! I’m
no fool. What’s the matter?”</p>
<p>“If I cure you,” said I, holding up my box of ointment,
“I must have the rest of your leaves; and from every one
I cure I must have the rest of his; it is only just.”</p>
<p>“Anything!” cried the King. “You can’t do it! It’s another
trick! I’ll give all the dead leaves in the city to anyone
who can save me and my people! It’s a trick! You
can’t do it. What are you waiting for? Try it! Oh, these
hands! It’s no use! Hurry up!”</p>
<p>I seized his hand, and running beside him I rubbed into
his palm a little of my new ointment; and running around
to his other side I did the same for his other hand.</p>
<p>“See the madmen!” cried the Fool, clapping his hands
in glee.</p>
<p>“By the beard of my uncle!” cried the King. “I feel better!
It’s going! It’s gone! It’s all over! I’m cured! Oh,
wonderful young man, come to my arms! What do you
say? I knew you could do it all the time. I’m cured!”</p>
<p>He grasped my arm and pulled me from the room, and
down the stairway to the front door. A great throng filled
the grounds, from the door to the gate; and commanding
silence, the King announced in a loud voice that I was ready
with my cure, and that whoever wished to be cured should
give up the remainder of his dead leaves.</p>
<p>There was a moment’s hesitation, but the anguish of their
affliction was too great; the people whispered together,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</SPAN></span>
doubtless remarking that they would soon get back their
leaves in trade; and at any rate they began to file before me,
and my healing work commenced; but not before I had applied
my salve, in sight of all, to my sister’s palms, and given
her immediate relief.</p>
<p>All that day and the next and for several days the work
continued, and in each case the itching vanished at once; the
city was cured again, and my vat in the public square was
filled to the brim, with all the dead orange leaves that the
people owned. The glory of my future was beyond calculation;
my sister, I resolved, should yet be Queen; and I
planned for myself such offices in the state as should give
me power even greater than the King’s.</p>
<p>When I awoke in my bed on the following morning, I
found that I was rubbing my hands.</p>
<p>I dressed hurriedly, and my sister came to me in tears.
She was rubbing her hands.</p>
<p>We hurried to the King. He was running up and down,
rubbing his hands.</p>
<p>We fled from him and ran out upon the palace steps, not
knowing where next to go; and as we stood there, hesitating,
the King’s brother appeared before us, and spoke with excitement.</p>
<p>“Beloved!” he cried. “We love each other—what more
is needed? Quick, it is not yet too late! Say that you love
me—let me hear it again!”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes, I do,” said my sister, and he threw his arm
about her and clasped her to his breast.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</SPAN></span>“Come! I will save you!” he cried. “There is time, if
we hurry. Will you come with me now?”</p>
<p>My sister drew back a little, still struggling within herself;
and while she hesitated, a commotion arose at the gate,
and the young man cried out, in a voice full of despair:</p>
<p>“It is too late, too late!”</p>
<h3><i>Tush and His Sister are Seized by the Angry Crowd</i></h3>
<p>At the gate a throng of people were pressing in with
angry shouts. They made toward us, dancing and rubbing
their hands. They surrounded us; they crowded upon us to
suffocation; the young man and myself tried in vain to shield
my sister; angry hands were laid upon her and upon myself,
and we were hustled away toward the gate.</p>
<p>“Give us back our leaves! Kill them both! To the
square!” shouted the mob; and thrusting the King’s brother
aside they pulled and pushed us to the public square, and
halted us beneath the vat which contained all my wealth.</p>
<p>A sudden outcry, followed by silence, drew my attention
upward. There above us, on the rim of the vat, stood the
King’s Fool. He held a lighted torch aloft in his hand.</p>
<p>“Madmen!” he cried. “I am ready to cure you! All
alone! Speak! Shall I destroy the leaves?”</p>
<p>“No, no!” shouted the crowd. “Stop him! Stop him!”</p>
<p>“If you fire the leaves, we will kill these two!” shouted
one of our captors.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said my sister at my side, pale with terror. “What
shall we do? Stop him! If the genie would only come and
help us! I wish the genie were here to help us!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</SPAN></span>“The time has come!” cried the Fool. “I must save you!
Why will you all be mad? I must save you from your madness!
In with the torch!”</p>
<p>He faced about toward the center of the vat, and swung
his torch as if about to toss it in; but at that instant a great
wind swept across the square with a roar, such a blast as I
had never in my life known before, and the King’s Fool
tottered in it for a moment, and his torch went out; and then,
clutching at the air, he was blown headlong to the ground
in a heap.</p>
<p>“The whirlwind! The whirlwind!” shouted the crowd in
terror. “Fly! Fly for your lives!”</p>
<p>Far off across the housetops appeared a yellow cloud, and
a saffron gloom overspread the city. From the cloud to the
ground revolved a yellow funnel, as of dust-laden wind; and
it was coming toward us with the speed of lightning.</p>
<p>The crowd dispersed madly, trampling one another,
shrieking and cursing, and in a twinkling they were gone. I
seized my sister and dragged her to the street corner, where
I opened one half of a cellar door and plunged down with
her, closing the door over us, but peeping out through a
crack. We were just in time.</p>
<h3><i>The Genie in the Whirlwind</i></h3>
<p>The whirling funnel of wind and dust swept over the
square; and in the forefront of it, at a great height, flew the
genie, his great mouth open, and darts of fire flickering
around his face.</p>
<p>The square was empty, save for the crumpled body of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</SPAN></span>
King’s Fool, lying motionless beside the vat of dead leaves;
and as I gazed at him where he lay, I saw, moving toward
him across the bare pavement, the humped figure of his
little monkey.</p>
<p>The genie, far above, kept just ahead of the whirlwind;
the yellow funnel whirled after him directly across the vat
and covered it and passed; and as it passed, all the dead
leaves surged up into it in a furious gale, so that it was darkened
with them; and the next moment the whirlwind was
gone, and the square lay quiet in the sunshine.</p>
<p>“Come, Paravaine!” said I, and pulled my sister forth
across the square.</p>
<p>We came to the base of the vat, and on the ground beside
it, left there untouched by the storm, lay the King’s Fool on
his side, graver than he had ever been in his life; and huddled
against his breast sat his monkey, shivering, and looking
up at us with eyes that seemed to reproach us.</p>
<p>We hurried toward the city gate. Many houses were in
ruins, and the streets were strewn with rubbish. People were
running busily about, gazing intently at the ground, and
now and then one would stoop and pick up something. I
saw what it was they were doing; they were searching for
dead leaves, scattered by the whirlwind.</p>
<p>“I can’t go!” said my sister, weeping. “I must see him
first! Oh, my love, my love!”</p>
<p>“Too late now!” I cried. “Too late, too late!”</p>
<p>I pulled her onward, knowing that death awaited us in
that city; and we came to the plot of grass where we had
seen the sacred tree. It was gone, and in the place where<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</SPAN></span>
it had been was only a gaping hole. The whirlwind had
passed that way. On the ground beside the hole lay the
panther, its head on its paws. It watched us with sleepy
eyes as we fled by.</p>
<p>In a moment we had reached the city gate and passed
out. The Guardian was standing there, his face clouded
with a frown, and his scimitar raised.</p>
<p>“Why do you flee?” said he.</p>
<p>“From the wrath of the people!” I cried. “Let us pass!”</p>
<p>“You cannot pass,” said he. His scimitar glittered in the
sun.</p>
<p>“But we repent! We repent!” cried my sister.</p>
<p>“Too late, too late!” said the Guardian. “See!”</p>
<p>He pointed upward, and afar off in the sky appeared a
black speck, speeding toward us.</p>
<p>“The genie!” I cried; and I had no sooner said it, than
the earth trembled, and before us on the ground towered
the genie, breathing fire.</p>
<p>“Save us from him!” I cried, turning to the Guardian, but
he was gone. We were alone with the genie.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_204fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">The genie swung him back and forth and tossed him out to sea</p>
<h3><i>The Pulling Off of the Genie’s Ring</i></h3>
<p>“Off with the ring! That will send him away!” I cried
to my sister, and she tugged at the ring on her forefinger,
to pull it off; but it came unwillingly; and as she pulled, her
finger lengthened; she tugged harder, and as the ring came
her finger stretched out longer and longer; and when the
ring was off and dropped on the ground, the first finger of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</SPAN></span>
her right hand was more than a foot long,—a black, stiff
rod, hooked at the end like a poker.</p>
<p>The genie stooped, and gathered me under his right arm
and my sister under his left; and giving a stamp upon the
ground which shook the earth he mounted into the air....</p>
<p>Far out over the Great Sea, as the sun was setting, the
genie drew downward toward an island; and on a bluff of
this island, overlooking a cove in which fishing boats lay
moored, he alighted and set us on our feet. Over my sister’s
head and back he passed his hand, speaking strange words
in his throat. She shriveled before my eyes; her face became
old and wrinkled and her body bent; and before I could
speak she was the hideous creature I had seen in the Fool’s
glass, with a forefinger like the poker of a ragpicker.</p>
<p>“Paravaine!” I cried; but the genie turned her away toward
a village which showed itself at the back of the cove,
and sent her off in that direction; and when she had gone, he
picked me up in his mighty hands, and carrying me to the
further edge of the bluff where it looked down on the rolling
surf, he swung me back and forth three or four times and
tossed me out to sea.</p>
<p>I sank into the depths; I rose to the surface; and as my
head came up I looked for the genie. Far up in the evening
sky flew what seemed a tiny, black arrow. I cried aloud;
and instead of a shriek there came from my throat a bark.
It was the bark of a seal.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</SPAN></span>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_206.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<h2 class="nobreak">THE SIXTH NIGHT<br/> <small>THE ENCHANTED HIGHWAYMAN</small></h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><i>MORTIMER the Executioner, very grand and uncomfortable
in his new suit, placed a chair for the
Queen before Solario’s worktable, and the old
tailor having seated himself cross-legged on the table, the
entire company sat down in a row, facing him.</i></p>
<p><i>There were first the Executioner, with the tiny Encourager
on his shoulder; then Bodkin; then Bojohn; then his
mother, the Princess Dorobel, and his father, Prince Bilbo;
and last, his grandmother, the Queen.</i></p>
<p><i>“Now then,” said Bojohn, “I hope we’re going to hear
the story of Montesango’s Cave at last.”</i></p>
<p><i>“If it please your majesty,” began Solario, addressing the</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</SPAN></span>
<i>Queen,—but at this moment there came a loud knock at
the door.</i></p>
<p><i>Mortimer the Executioner hastened to open it, and there
in the doorway stood the King himself. Solario sprang
down from his table, and all the others rose.</i></p>
<p><i>“Ah! your majesty!” cried Solario, bowing profoundly.
“This is indeed an honor!”</i></p>
<p><i>“I was told I would find you here,” said the King. “It
seems that my entire family deserts me in the evening, and
I am obliged to climb the worst stairs in the castle to— But
of course if you find my society too—”</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear!” said the Queen. “We have been listening
to Solario’s stories, and you were so taken up with your
chess that we thought you wouldn’t care to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Why not?” said the King. “But of course if you don’t
want me to hear the stories, I’ll—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Sit down, grandfather!” cried Bojohn. “He’s just going
to begin.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Do sit down, my dear,” said the Queen. “Don’t you
remember the story he told us the first night?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Hum! Ha! I’m all out of breath with those plaguey
stairs. Something about a button, wasn’t it?”</i></p>
<p><i>“Perhaps,” said Prince Bilbo, “he’ll tell us to-night how
the magic doublet came to be—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Well,” said the King, “if it isn’t a long story— Is it
a long story?”</i></p>
<p><i>“No, no, your majesty,” said Solario, bowing again, “it is
quite short.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Hum!” said the King. “If you’re sure it’s not a long</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</SPAN></span>
<i>story—Why don’t you begin?” and he sat down in the Executioner’s
chair.</i></p>
<p><i>Solario took his place cross-legged on the table again, and
the others resumed their seats before him,—all except the
Executioner, who stood, with the Encourager on his
shoulder, behind the King.</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear,” said the Queen, “did you give the orders for
locking the castle for the night?”</i></p>
<p><i>“I believe I usually attend to that,” said the King. “Solario,
proceed.”</i></p>
<p><i>“If it is your pleasure,” said Solario, fingering his shears,
“I will now relate to you the story concerning the magic
doublet, as it was told to the Black Prince by his father the
King of Wen, and by the Black Prince to me. The King of
Wen, having directed his son regarding his mission to the
City of Oogh, placed the doublet in his son’s left hand, and
thus commenced what I may call</i></p>
<h4>“THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED HIGHWAYMAN.”</h4>
<p><i>“I thought,” interrupted Bojohn, “you were going to tell
us the story of the magic doublet.”</i></p>
<p><i>“I am about to do so,” said Solario. “As I was saying,
the King of Wen, placing the magic doublet in his son’s left
hand, thus commenced</i></p>
<h4>“THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED HIGHWAYMAN.”</h4>
<p>When I was a young man (said the King of Wen), I left
my father’s castle one morning for a day’s hunting in the
forest. Late in the afternoon it chanced that I had wandered<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</SPAN></span>
away from my attendants, and being warm and weary
I threw myself down upon the moss to rest. I had lain
there but a moment when I saw, not far off among the trees,
a fine buck, the only game I had come upon that day. I
crept cautiously in his direction, and soon came within easy
bowshot of him; but just as I was fitting my arrow to the
string he tossed his head and trotted off into the forest and
disappeared.</p>
<p>I made off after him as fast as I could, marking his trail
by a broken branch here and there and an occasional hoof-print
in the damp earth, and presently I found myself deep
in a considerable thicket of underwood, and from this thicket
I came out, to my surprise, upon a forest road.</p>
<h3><i>A Voice from Nowhere Bids the Prince Stop</i></h3>
<p>I stood for a moment looking up and down curiously.
The deer was nowhere to be seen. The road was arched
in a charming manner by the branches of the trees, and at no
great distance lost itself in the shadowy forest. I wondered
that I had never heard of this road before, and after pondering
this for a moment I began to cross the road, looking
carefully for the deer’s tracks in the dust. I saw no trace
of him, and I was about to push into the forest on the other
side, when suddenly a voice, a low but clear voice, said distinctly
in my ear, “Stop!”</p>
<p>I looked about me, but I could see no one. There was
positively no living creature near me,—unless I except a
wasp which at the moment was flying about my head, and
which I struck away with my hand.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</SPAN></span>I walked down the road some twenty paces, peering about
for the person who had spoken, and becoming more and
more perplexed; and as I was about to enter the forest the
same voice, still low but quite distinct, spoke again close
into my ear: “Stop!”</p>
<p>I stopped in bewilderment. The forest was silent as the
sky; no living creature, not even a bird, could I see anywhere;
there was nothing;—nothing, indeed, except the wasp
which was still flying about my head and which now began to
annoy me exceedingly.</p>
<p>I went on again, striking out at the wasp, and in a moment
(I assure you I began to doubt my senses), the same voice
spoke again, this time close into my left ear.</p>
<p>“Stop! Just a moment!” it said. “Look, if you please!
On your left shoulder!”</p>
<p>I craned my neck about, and there was nothing on my left
shoulder except the wasp. The wasp was there, indeed, and
I made as if to brush him off; but the voice said, “Don’t,
if you please!” and I stayed my hand.</p>
<p>You may imagine that I was more astonished than ever.
I gazed at the wasp intently, and as I did so the voice began
to murmur, in a kind of rapid, buzzing drone, into my left
ear.</p>
<p>“Mercy on us!” I cried. “It’s the wasp that’s talking!”</p>
<p>It was true, beyond a doubt. “Yes!” said the voice.
“Please listen! If you’d only be so good—I really wish you
would!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The Prince Listens to a Curious Discourse</i></h3>
<p>I stood perfectly still in the roadway, and I know that
my mouth hung open as I listened. The wasp buzzed into
my ear a kind of rapid, droning song, so low that I had to
strain my attention a little to catch it all, and these were
the words I heard:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“I know it’s rude to speak to you, it’s something I but seldom do,</div>
<div class="indent2">to speak before I’m spoken to,</div>
<div class="indent11">Or buttonhole a stranger;</div>
<div class="verse">Excuse me if I do not pause to think just now of social laws, I can</div>
<div class="indent2">not spare the time, because</div>
<div class="indent11">I’m in the gravest danger;</div>
<div class="verse">In gravest danger, yes, it’s true, I’m sure I don’t know what I’ll</div>
<div class="indent2">do, I’ll positively die if you</div>
<div class="indent11">Refuse me your assistance;</div>
<div class="verse">Come, follow me without delay, I pray you do not say me nay,</div>
<div class="indent2">it’s life or death,—and anyway</div>
<div class="indent11">It’s scarcely any distance.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“My lot is sad in the extreme, I really am not what I seem,</div>
<div class="indent2">I once was held in high esteem</div>
<div class="indent11">By every friend and neighbor:</div>
<div class="verse">A man entirely free of guile, who lived but in his children’s smile,</div>
<div class="indent2">and kept them all in modest style</div>
<div class="indent11">By hard and patient labor,</div>
<div class="verse">A man of pleasing manners who, whatever other men might do,</div>
<div class="indent2">spoke seldom unless spoken to,</div>
<div class="indent11">A practice much commended;</div>
<div class="verse">My trade in such a way I plied upon the highway far and wide</div>
<div class="indent2">(I say it with a modest pride)</div>
<div class="indent11">I scarcely once offended.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“It used to be my pleasant way (it always made my work seem<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="indent2">play) to take the air from day to day,—</div>
<div class="indent11">Unless, of course,’twas raining,—</div>
<div class="verse">Upon the road to watch and wait from early morn to rather late,</div>
<div class="indent2">but always coming home by eight</div>
<div class="indent11">(Such was my early training),</div>
<div class="verse">I used to watch and wait, I say, and when a trav’ler came my</div>
<div class="indent2">way, which happened every other day</div>
<div class="indent11">Unless too cold or sunny,</div>
<div class="verse">I never spoke a word, not I, I merely breathed a patient sigh,</div>
<div class="indent2">and held my trusty blade on high</div>
<div class="indent11">And took from him his money.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“’Twas thus I kept my children ten, a decent, worthy citizen,</div>
<div class="indent2">the happiest of mortal men</div>
<div class="indent11">My humble sphere adorning,</div>
<div class="verse">The father of ten daughters fair who needed tons of clothes to</div>
<div class="indent2">wear, and that was why I took the air</div>
<div class="indent11">Upon the road each morning,</div>
<div class="verse">But oh, alas for them and me, it’s over now, as you may see,</div>
<div class="indent2">and you are incontestably</div>
<div class="indent11">Our only hope remaining;</div>
<div class="verse">And all our truly dreadful plight is just because one rainy night</div>
<div class="indent2">I simply for a moment quite</div>
<div class="indent11">Forgot my early training.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_212fp.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse"><b>“I held my trusty blade on high</b></div>
<div class="verse"><b>And took from him his money”</b></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“’Twas rainy and ’twas after eight, I knew that I was out too</div>
<div class="indent2">late, but when your trade’s in such a state</div>
<div class="indent11">You hardly know what cash is,</div>
<div class="verse">You cannot stop because you get your feet all muddy, cold and wet,</div>
<div class="indent2">I knew I should be ill, and yet,—</div>
<div class="indent11">My children needed sashes.</div>
<div class="verse">I shivered with the wet and cold, I counted twenty times all told</div>
<div class="indent2">I’d meant to have my shoes half-soled</div>
<div class="indent11">And still they’d not been cobbled,</div>
<div class="verse">‘I’ll certainly,’ I thought, ‘be sick,’—and then from out the darkness<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="indent2">thick an ancient woman with a stick</div>
<div class="indent11">In fearsome silence hobbled.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“She was an ancient, crooked crone, an ugly thing of skin and</div>
<div class="indent2">bone, she passed me silent as a stone</div>
<div class="indent11">(I thought it rather funny),</div>
<div class="verse">But I could hear my children cry, ‘Oh, buy us ribbons, father, buy,’</div>
<div class="indent2">and stopping her, my blade on high,</div>
<div class="indent11">I shouted, ‘Stand! Your money!’</div>
<div class="verse">Ah, that was just where I did make a most unfortunate mistake,</div>
<div class="indent2">for she with mirth began to shake</div>
<div class="indent11">(It made my blood run colder),</div>
<div class="verse">And up she raised her crooked staff, she gave a most unearthly</div>
<div class="indent2">laugh, a thing I did not like by half,</div>
<div class="indent11">And touched me on the shoulder.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“She stood, she looked me through and through, she said not even</div>
<div class="indent2">‘How d’ye do,’ she merely gave a laugh or two,</div>
<div class="indent11">And munched her gums together:</div>
<div class="verse">A witch, a sorceress of the wood! I nearly fainted where I stood,</div>
<div class="indent2">I really truly think you could</div>
<div class="indent11">Have felled me with a feather.</div>
<div class="verse">A witch, as sure, as sure could be! You see what she has done to</div>
<div class="indent2">me! And all because I carelessly</div>
<div class="indent11">Forgot my early training.</div>
<div class="verse">From which you learn this lesson true, that it will never, never</div>
<div class="indent2">do to speak before you’re spoken to</div>
<div class="indent11">Or stay out when it’s raining.”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>The voice stopped, and the wasp flew off, directly before
my nose, as if leading me away.</p>
<p><i>“Why, dear me!” interrupted the Queen. “I believe this
wasp was nothing more nor less than a Highwayman.”</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</SPAN></span><i>“What I don’t understand is,” said the King, “how a
Highwayman could have learned to make up verses.”</i></p>
<p><i>“In the Forest of Wen, your majesty,” said Solario, “the
Highwaymen always talked in that fashion. It was their
regular custom. I am told that no Highwayman could get
his certificate until he had passed an examination in arithmetic,
swordplay, and composition; and of course composition
included verse making.”</i></p>
<p><i>“Well,” said the King, “I don’t see what that had to do
with making a good Highwayman of him; but then I don’t
pretend to understand these notions about education. As
far as I’m concerned, if I had to pass an examination in
arithmetic in order to be a King, I’d simply have to look
about for something else to do. I never could see the sense
in teaching a King arithmetic, and I don’t see the sense in
teaching a Highwayman how to make verses. I know it’s
done in some places; it’s gotten to be quite the thing, I understand
that perfectly well; but I don’t see any sense in it.”</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear,” said the Queen, “you mustn’t forget that a
Highwayman has to know a great deal more than a King.
It’s so very much harder to be a good Highwayman. But I
don’t think I should like to be married to one.”</i></p>
<p><i>“This one was a widower, evidently,” said the King. “I
know I shouldn’t like to be a widower with ten daughters on
my hands. I don’t see how any human being could keep ten
daughters in ribbons and—”</i></p>
<p><i>“When Dorobel was little,” said the Queen, “I always
had the most terrible time to make her remember that she
mustn’t speak until she was spoken to. I don’t wonder the</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</SPAN></span>
<i>poor man forgot it, when he was so worried about sashes
for his dear children,—and out so late at night, and in the
rain, too!”</i></p>
<p><i>“Why don’t you let the man go on with his story?” said
the King. “We’ll</i> never <i>get to bed at this rate. Solario, be
kind enough to proceed.”</i></p>
<p>The wasp flew off (said the King of Wen), directly before
my nose, as if leading me away; and I followed him
down the road.</p>
<p>We had gone about a mile, when the wasp turned off into
the forest. I hesitated a moment, but I was curious to
know what this unfortunate Highwayman intended, and I
pushed on after him into a portion of the forest which was
wilder and gloomier than any I had yet seen. The branches
of the trees hung low, and the ground was thick with underbrush;
I had to part the bushes and branches with my hands
in order to get through.</p>
<p>The wasp flew within a foot of my nose, and I kept on
after him thus for more than half an hour. He seemed to
know the way, but for my part I began to wonder whether
I should ever be able to find my way back. Suddenly he flew
off, and I saw him no more.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince, Alone in the Forest, Hears the Bark of a Dog</i></h3>
<p>I was at this moment in an uncommonly thick part of
the forest. The trees were perhaps less close, but the
underbrush was taller; so tall that I could not see through.
I stopped for a moment, and listened. All was still. Not a
bird twittered among the leaves overhead. I was vexed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</SPAN></span>
that I had allowed myself to be drawn upon such a wild-goose
chase, and I decided that I had better begin to make
my way back to the road; and as I was considering this, I
heard the bark of a dog.</p>
<p>It was a single, sharp bark, and it stopped abruptly, as
if a hand had been clapped over the animal’s mouth. I
listened again, but it came no more. “What should a dog
be doing here?” I thought; and full of curiosity I pushed
on through the underbrush in the direction of the sound.
In a moment I had broken through the tanglewood, and I
was standing at the edge of a clearing, in the midst of which
was a little house.</p>
<p>It was a very tiny house indeed,—not much more, in fact,
than a hut. Its door was closed, and the window beside the
door was barred with shutters. I listened intently, thinking
to hear again the bark of a dog, but I heard nothing. Evidently
the place was deserted.</p>
<p>I crossed the open space before the door, and as I did so
I noticed, clinging to the trunk and lower branches of a
tree at the side of the clearing, what appeared to be a wasp’s
nest; but an enormous wasp’s nest, big enough, in all conscience,
to contain a man if need be; a wasp’s nest greater
than I should have thought could exist in the world. I
looked at it curiously, and coming nearer I saw, crawling
over it, a number of wasps. I counted them, and there
were eleven.</p>
<p>They arose with one accord and flew in great agitation
about my head; and at the same time I heard a voice from
inside the wasp’s nest,—the voice of a human being, but not<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</SPAN></span>
the one I had already heard; a voice much stronger and
louder. I put my ear against the wasp’s nest, and from
within came these words:</p>
<p>“Don’t speak before you’re spoken to!”</p>
<p>“Who is it?” I said. “Where are you?”</p>
<p>“Beware the dog!” said the voice again.</p>
<p>“But who—what—?” I began.</p>
<h3><i>The Prisoner Inside the Wasp’s Nest</i></h3>
<p>“I can’t get out! I’m imprisoned inside the wasp’s nest!
Do as you’re bid, and don’t speak before you’re spoken to.
Beware the dog!”</p>
<p>At this moment I heard the click of a latch, and I turned
round in time to see the door of the hut open.</p>
<p>In the doorway was standing an old woman, and by her
side a dog. She was a hideous old crone, wrinkled and
bent, with little, beady eyes and a hooked nose and no
teeth. She stood there munching her gums and blinking her
eyes at me, and I noticed that she wore about her neck a
string of what looked like ivory buttons, ten of them,
white and flat.</p>
<p>With her left hand she leaned on a crooked stick, and
with her right hand she held, by a leather thong, the
biggest and fiercest-looking dog I had ever seen in my life.
His head came nearly to the old woman’s shoulder. He was
chocolate brown in color, and his skin was entirely naked
of hair, except for a patch of long wiry hair which fringed
his neck. He bared his sharp, white teeth at me and growled.
I felt decidedly uneasy.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</SPAN></span>The eleven wasps were flying about my head in violent
agitation. The old woman said nothing, but continued to
blink at me and munch her gums. Suddenly the dog barked,
and without a word the old woman flung the thong from
her hand. The dog gave a bound toward me and crouched
for a spring, growling and bristling. In another instant I
knew that I would be torn to pieces. I started back and
cried out in alarm.</p>
<p>“Call him off!” I shouted. “Stop him! Call him off!”</p>
<p>At these words, a groan came from inside the wasps’ nest.
At the same time one of the eleven wasps, which were flying
directly before my face, dropped to the ground at my feet
as if dead. I realized that I had spoken before being spoken
to, and one of the wasps—one of the Highwayman’s daughters,
in fact,—had suffered for my error. But the worst consequence
was now to come.</p>
<p>The old woman shook her stick and danced up and down
in hideous glee.</p>
<p>“He’s spoken!” she cried. “Ha! ha! Spoken before he
was spoken to! He’s done for himself now! At him, dog,
he’s helpless! Seize him, dog, destroy him!”</p>
<h3><i>The Dog Leaps Upon Him to Devour Him</i></h3>
<p>Before I could turn, the dog was upon me. No man on
earth could have stood up under such an attack. With one
leap he was upon my breast, and bore me to the ground;
and as I fell his sharp teeth sank into my shoulder, and I
nearly fainted with pain and terror.</p>
<p>“A hair of the dog that bit you!” It was the voice from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</SPAN></span>
within the wasp’s nest, and it was crying: “A hair of the
dog that bit you!”</p>
<p>My senses were slipping away, and I hardly knew what I
did; but somehow or other I put my hand on the beast’s
neck, and plucked from it a long hair; and as I did so the
dog bounded away from me and stood cowering and quivering,
as if in fear.</p>
<p>“At him!” screamed the witch—for it was a witch, beyond
a doubt; and she rushed upon the dog and began to
beat him violently with her stick. “At him again!” she
screamed, but to my amazement the dog turned upon her,
snarling; and at that moment the voice came again from
the wasp’s nest, and it cried:</p>
<p>“A ring of the hair! Make a ring of the hair for your
finger!”</p>
<p>I sat up and quickly wound about my finger, in a ring,
the hair which I had plucked from the dog’s neck. The
effect of this was startling. The witch shrieked, plainly in
terror, and sprang away from the dog; and the brute came
to me and cringed before me on the ground and whined; and
behold, all the pain was gone from my shoulder.</p>
<p>“Command him to be himself again!” cried the voice
from the wasp’s nest.</p>
<p>“Be yourself again!” I cried, not knowing what I said.</p>
<h3><i>The Prince, Sitting on the Ground, Looks Up at a Genie</i></h3>
<p>Instantly, in the flash of an eye, the dog was gone; and
in his place stood, towering above me full seven yards or
more, a monstrous creature in the shape of a man, chocolate<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</SPAN></span>
brown in color, baldheaded except for a fringe of long hair
at the base of his skull, and bare except for a cloth twisted
about his middle, in which hung a gleaming scimitar. It was
a genie. He was panting with anger or some other strong
emotion, and as he panted jets of fire shot forth from his
nostrils. His mighty chest heaved, and I shrank back in
alarm; but he spread out his hands and bowed low before
me. I remembered the ring of hair on my finger, and grew
bolder.</p>
<p>The witch was creeping quietly away, stick in hand, toward
the door of her hut; but as she reached it the genie
stooped and caught her in his hand and held her fast. I
sprang to my feet.</p>
<p>“Set free your victims!” I cried to her. “The wasps and
the prisoner inside the nest! Release them! or by the power
of the genie’s hair, I will command him to destroy you!”</p>
<p>She kicked and squirmed and shrieked, but all in vain.
There was no escaping from that terrible grasp. She grew
quiet, and began to mutter to herself. “I will count ten,” I
cried, “and if at the tenth—” But she did not wait for
me to count. With one look up at the genie’s face she waved
her crooked stick in the air and began to pour out strange
words, and then, giving a despairing cry, she let the stick
fall to the ground; and as it touched the ground, there came
from the wasp’s nest—I assure you it was an extraordinary
sight—I scarcely know how to tell you, it all happened so
quickly—</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>The One-Armed Sorcerer Appears from Within the Wasp’s Nest</i></h3>
<p>Well, the wasp’s nest opened from top to bottom, and
inside it was sitting a young man, who leaped down with a
laugh and stood before me, bowing. I noticed that he had
but one arm, the left; his eyes were blue, and his skin
was fair and rosy; and he wore a long blue gown spangled
with silver stars.</p>
<h3><i>The Highwayman and Nine of His Daughters Appear in Proper Person</i></h3>
<p>Almost at the same instant there were standing before me
nine young maidens, all of extraordinary beauty; and in
their midst an elderly man with a gray beard and a long
thin face, and spindly legs. The nine maidens were gazing
at an object on the ground, and the elderly man looked down
at it also, and they all began to wring their hands together
and moan.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said the elderly man, sniffling,—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“Just see what he has gone and done, he can’t deny it, he’s the</div>
<div class="indent2">one, he ought to hide his head where none</div>
<div class="indent11">Could ever look upon it,</div>
<div class="verse">He knew, he did, he surely knew, I told him it would never do</div>
<div class="indent2">to speak before you’re spoken to,</div>
<div class="indent11">And now he’s gone and done it.”</div>
</div></div>
<p>“I warned him,” said the one-armed young man, “but
he was frightened, and he forgot.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</SPAN></span>“Oh, yes,” said the elderly man, wiping his tears away
with the back of his hand,—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">
“Oh, yes, it’s well enough to say it slipped his mind a bit to-day</div>
<div class="indent2">and in an absent sort of way</div>
<div class="indent11">He slew my darling daughter;</div>
<div class="verse">But that will hardly, hardly do, I really can’t agree with you, it’s</div>
<div class="indent2">simply from my point of view</div>
<div class="indent11">A case of plain manslaughter.”</div>
</div></div>
<p>“Oh, sister! sister!” cried the nine maidens. “Isn’t it
terrible? It’s too terrible! It is terrible, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Let me go!” screamed the witch, struggling in the hand
of the genie.</p>
<h3><i>He Sees the Highwayman’s Tenth Daughter</i></h3>
<p>I pushed into the group around the elderly Highwayman,
and there at his feet I saw what made my heart stand still
with grief and remorse. On the ground was lying a maiden,
far lovelier than any of the others; and she was dead.
Her eyes were closed, her face was pale, she did not breathe;
and her hair lay about her like a shower of gold. Alas,
that my carelessness had brought her to this sorrowful end!
If she had only lived! How I should have rejoiced to be
her friend, and in the course of time, perhaps, persuade
her to smile upon me—Alas! alas! At that moment, if she
could but have cast one look upon me, I would have laid at
her feet all that I—</p>
<p>I knelt beside her and took her cold hand in mine. I
stooped over her, and in an excess of pity, and of more, far
more than pity, I kissed her softly on the lips.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</SPAN></span>Oh, wonderful! Her eyelids quivered. A faint flush
came into her cheeks. Her eyes opened, and she looked
straight into my own. She smiled, and it was like the
evening sky after rain. I put my arm beneath her shoulder,
and helped her to stand up. She rubbed her eyes and swayed
a little, and I kept my arm about her. We gazed at each
other, smiling.</p>
<p>“Is it—?” said she.</p>
<p>“It is, beloved!” I cried, and folded her, unresisting, to
my heart.</p>
<p>“Oh, isn’t it just too perfectly sweet?” cried her nine
sisters, clapping their hands and laughing merrily, all together.
“It is sweet, isn’t it? It’s love at first sight! It’s
just the sweetest thing ever! <i>Isn’t</i> it just too sweet for
<i>anything</i>, though?”</p>
<p>But while they were still running on in this fashion, and
the elderly Highwayman was cheering faintly and the one-armed
young man was cheering lustily, a loud roar came
from the genie, and we saw that the witch had slipped from
his grasp and was even now dashing in at the door of the
hut. She shut it behind her with a bang, and the one-armed
youth pounded against it in vain.</p>
<p>“The stolen hair!” he cried. “The genie’s hair which
she stole from me! I must get it back! Don’t let her
get away!”</p>
<h3><i>The Genie Breathes Fire Upon the Witch’s Hut</i></h3>
<p>The genie opened his great mouth and roared with anger;
then he stooped down over the hut, and I saw that he was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</SPAN></span>
breathing fire upon the roof from his nostrils; and as the
sparks caught in the dry thatch, he began to walk around
the hut, bending and breathing fire upon its roof from place
to place. In a few moments it was ablaze from end to end;
the walls caught; and as I held my fair lady trembling close
beside me, the house arose in flames, crackling and roaring,
and showering sparks upward into the twilight sky.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said my fair one, clinging to my arm. “The poor
witch! Save her! She will be burned to death!” But the
genie’s thunderous laugh was her only answer.</p>
<p>We watched until the fire was out, and there remained
only a heap of smoking ashes; and the witch was gone.</p>
<p>“Oh, the poor thing!” said my beautiful lady.</p>
<p>“Isn’t it terrible?” said her nine sisters, among themselves.
“It’s just too terrible for anything! It <i>is</i> terrible,
isn’t it? It’s simply terrible, it is, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>The one-armed youth stepped up to the ruin and appeared
to be looking among the ashes near what was once the door.
He looked for a long time, and then he suddenly straightened
up and cried, “Ah!”</p>
<p>He came toward us, and he was holding up in his hand
what seemed to be a necklace.</p>
<p>“See!” he said, and I saw that it was a string of buttons,
of large flat buttons, eleven of them, threaded on
what seemed to be a hair; the same I had seen about the
witch’s neck.</p>
<p>“It is the genie’s hair,” said the young man, “the same
that she stole from me; and it was this hair which gave
her power to turn my genie to a dog and imprison me in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</SPAN></span>
the wasp’s nest. Now let me see these buttons; I must look
at them with care.”</p>
<p>He examined each one minutely; and when he had examined
them all, he placed his finger on his lips and smiled
knowingly; and while I held the hair he broke it and slipped
off the eleventh button, inviting me to look at it closely. I
looked and saw upon it, near the rim, a crooked black line,
much like the imprint of a tiny, crooked stick.</p>
<h3><i>The One-Armed Sorcerer Performs Upon a Button</i></h3>
<p>He threw the button upon the ground, laughing, and took
from within his gown a leather pouch, from which he
sprinkled upon the button a black powder; and then he
began to speak, in a loud voice, words which I could not
understand, in the midst of which he picked up the button,
now crusted with black; and still repeating his strange
words, he swung his arm, and with a loud cry flung the
button into the branches of the nearest tree; and there,
hanging on to a branch of the tree, trying desperately to
keep from toppling off, was the old witch herself.</p>
<p>Instantly the young man took the threaded buttons from
me and slipped them off the hair; he wound the hair about
his finger and cried,—</p>
<p>“Off with her! Off with her to the Forest Kingdom,
far from here, and see that she never comes back again!
Off with her, I say, to the Kingdom of the Great Forest!”</p>
<p>At these words the genie strode over to the witch and—</p>
<p><i>“Well, bless my soul,” interposed the King, “what business
did he have to send that witch here, I’d like to know?
So</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</SPAN></span> that’s <i>how she came to live in my Forest! A fine piece of
work, I must say! A pretty how-d’ye-do, to send their cast-off
witches over here! What business had he to—”</i></p>
<p><i>“Never mind, grandfather” said Bojohn, “do let him go
on with his story.”</i></p>
<p><i>“A fine piece of work!” said the King. “Of all the high-handed,
brazen-faced—”</i></p>
<p><i>“My dear!” said the Queen.</i></p>
<p>The genie strode over to the witch in three steps and
plucked her down with one hand. He then tucked her under
his arm like a sack of corn, and stood before the one-armed
youth.</p>
<p>“Stoop down!” said the young man.</p>
<p>The genie bowed low, and the young man, to my surprise,
reached up and pulled from the back of his head, at
the neck, ten long hairs, one by one.</p>
<p>“Away!” cried the one-armed youth.</p>
<h3><i>The Genie Flies Away With the Witch</i></h3>
<p>The genie stood up, and opening his great mouth in a
silent laugh, stamped upon the earth so that it shook, and
leaped straight up. He rose in the air in a wide curve;
and before we could blink again he was gone like an arrow
over the treetops, with the witch under his arm, and was no
more than a speck in the evening sky.</p>
<p>The young man tucked the ten hairs away inside his
gown.</p>
<p>“Now,” said he, “<i>she’s</i> gone. And good riddance, too,
I should say.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</SPAN></span>“Sir,” said I to him, “will you tell us who you are, and
what brings you here?”</p>
<p>“I am a sorcerer,” said he, “and I dwell in an island far
out in the Great Sea. I am known there as the One-Armed
Sorcerer. I came here, with the genie whom I command by
virtue of a ring of his hair, in order to prove my skill against
the witch. I undertook to release our good friend the Highwayman
and his ten fair daughters, but I am bound to say
that I managed it badly; so badly that the witch got the
genie’s hair away from me, and by means of that hair turned
him into a dog and shut me up inside the wasp’s nest. And
all because I didn’t know the rule, that you mustn’t speak
before you’re spoken to.”</p>
<p>“A pretty good rule,” said I, “but if everybody observed
it, who would ever talk?”</p>
<p>“Well, anyway,” said the One-Armed Sorcerer, “here I
have ten buttons, and here I have ten threads from the
genie’s head. I propose to make you a doublet, sir; a
magic doublet; and for the cloth, the wasp’s nest will be
the very thing. It will be a doublet worth having; and to
you, sir, who have so nobly preserved us all, I will present
it on—er—ahem!—on your wedding day.”</p>
<p>“Hurrah!” piped up the elderly Highwayman, and the
lady on my arm blushed.</p>
<p>“Oh, isn’t that sweet of him?” cried her nine sisters.
“Isn’t it just too sweet for anything? It’s really the sweetest
thing, now isn’t it? Too perfectly sweet for words,
it is, really!”</p>
<p>The One-Armed Sorcerer, stepping over to the wasp’s<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</SPAN></span>
nest, pulled it down from the tree without breaking it, and
slung it on his back.</p>
<p>“Come with me!” I cried. “You shall all return with me
to my father’s castle. Will you consent to that?”</p>
<p>“Well,” said the elderly Highwayman,—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“Though anxious to accommodate, I fear it’s growing rather late,</div>
<div class="indent2">I seldom stay out after eight—”</div>
</div></div>
<p>“Oh, father!” cried his daughters, nine of them, together,
“it would be perfectly jolly!”</p>
<p>“It would suit me to perfection,” said the One-Armed
Sorcerer.</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>won’t</i> it be jolly? It <i>will</i> be jolly, won’t it?
Wouldn’t it be perfectly jolly?” cried the nine young damsels,
clapping their hands.</p>
<p>“Will you come home with me?” I whispered to the fairest
of the ten, who had said nothing.</p>
<p>“If you wish it,” she whispered, blushing again.</p>
<p>“Oh, aren’t they just the dearest things?” cried her nine
sisters. “It’s love at first sight—oh, the dear things!
Aren’t they just simply too dear for anything? They <i>are</i>
perfectly dear, now, aren’t they? Really now, aren’t they
just too perfectly <i>dear</i>?”</p>
<h3><i>The Prince Leads His Beloved Home</i></h3>
<p>Well, the long and the short of it is, we reached my
father’s castle late that night, under a starry sky. The
attendants whom I had left in the forest had returned without
me, and the castle was a-twitter with anxiety. But<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</SPAN></span>
when I led my fair lady into the great hall and presented
her to my father, the King, and her nine sisters and the
elderly Highwayman and the One-Armed Sorcerer stood
bowing behind us, there was joy, I can tell you, and the
rafters rang again.</p>
<p>My father, after a long look at the beautiful damsel at
my side, and then at me, gave a long, slow whistle, without
making a sound, and stooped and kissed her on both cheeks,
nudging me with his elbow at the same time.</p>
<p>A cheer went up again, and my father took me aside and
whispered in my ear.</p>
<p>“You rascal,” said he, “I never thought you had it in you
to— Really! You don’t say so! You astonish me! A
Highwayman’s daughter! Well, well, think of that! Very
original of you, my son; I’m sure I never would have
thought of such a thing at your age. She’s got a fine eye,
my boy; there’s a look in it I’ve seen in your mother’s eye;
a will of her own, you can’t fool me about that look,—yes,
yes, very beautiful,—but a will of her own, remember I
told you. A Highwayman’s daughter! That’s good.
Highly original. Well, well, it might have been the Hangman’s
daughter—but remember what I told you about that
look in the eye, I’ve seen it before,—your mother used
to—but she’s certainly beautiful all the same—when does
the wedding come off?”</p>
<h3><i>The Magic Doublet Is Presented at the Wedding</i></h3>
<p>We were married on the morning of the third day. Such
feasting, such dancing, such merriment,—and gifts innumerable;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</SPAN></span>
but the best gift of all was a doublet, made with his
left hand by the One-Armed Sorcerer from the skin of the
witch’s wasp’s nest, fastened by the witch’s ten buttons sewed
on with the genie’s hair; a doublet to preserve the wearer
from all harm. And this, as the wedding dinner was nearing
its end, the One-Armed Sorcerer, rising in his place, presented
to me with a pretty speech, for which I thanked
him.</p>
<p>“Sir,” said my father, addressing the One-Armed Sorcerer,
“I invite you to remain with me at my court, to instruct
my son in the mystery of handling a wife. Nobody
but a sorcerer should undertake such a job. Will you try
it?”</p>
<p>“Alas, your majesty,” said the One-Armed Sorcerer, “it
is far beyond my powers. And besides, I must return to my
island home, on pressing business.”</p>
<p>“Very well, then,” said my father. He took my bride’s
hand in his and patted it, while she looked down in confusion.
“My dear,” said he to her, “you must persuade
your sisters to remain here with us. And as for your father,
I design to appoint him Lord Treasurer of my kingdom.
I think a Highwayman ought to be a good man to take
charge of my money. Will you persuade him to accept that
office?”</p>
<p>“Oh!” cried the nine sisters, without giving my bride a
chance to speak. “That <i>would</i> be jolly! Oh, <i>wouldn’t</i> it be
jolly? It <i>will</i> be just too perfectly jolly for anything, won’t
it? But really, though, <i>won’t</i> it be jolly? Just too simply,
perfectly, adorably <i>jolly</i>!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</SPAN></span>“Your majesty,” said my father-in-law the Highwayman,
rising up on his elderly legs,—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“Although I am not confident that I’m entirely competent, I thank</div>
<div class="indent2">you for the compliment,</div>
<div class="indent11">I thank you most sincerely;</div>
<div class="verse">I fear I am not very quick in matters of arithmetic, but often when</div>
<div class="indent2">the answers stick</div>
<div class="indent11">I get them,—very nearly;</div>
<div class="verse">And if at first I don’t succeed I try again, although indeed I</div>
<div class="indent2">cannot say I always heed</div>
<div class="indent11">Each wretched little fraction;</div>
<div class="verse">And anyway you must agree if one but knows his Rule of Three</div>
<div class="indent2">there’s hardly any need to be</div>
<div class="indent11">Acquainted with subtraction.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“I do not wish to seem to boast, of all things I detest it most,</div>
<div class="indent2">and yet I think I’d fill the post</div>
<div class="indent11">Not very ill, not very:</div>
<div class="verse">From early youth I did betray, I’ve often heard my mother say,</div>
<div class="indent2">a really rather taking way</div>
<div class="indent11">In matters monetary;</div>
<div class="verse">A simple little rule or two I always try to keep in view, to do</div>
<div class="indent2">what I am told to do,</div>
<div class="indent11">And always speak politely,</div>
<div class="verse">And never make a saucy joke behind the backs of other folk, a rule</div>
<div class="indent2">which I have seldom broke,</div>
<div class="indent11">If I remember rightly.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“My motto is a simple one, that happiness depends upon the consciousness</div>
<div class="indent2">of duty done</div>
<div class="indent11">(Unless it’s too unpleasant),</div>
<div class="verse">I value virtue more than wit, and as for riches, I admit I do not<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="indent2">value them a bit</div>
<div class="indent11">(At least, not just at present),</div>
<div class="verse">I think, however, I should state, that though I don’t mind working</div>
<div class="indent2">late, I like to be at home by eight,</div>
<div class="indent11">When supper’s on the table;</div>
<div class="verse">And thus, in words of simple art, I thank you, Sir, with all my</div>
<div class="indent2">heart, and promise I will do my part</div>
<div class="indent11">(At least, as far as able).”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_232.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i_end_paper.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="transnote">
<p class="ph2">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:</p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
</div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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