Then came the pies. And such pies! Carried on the shoulders of sturdy
boys, drawn on floats by teams of ponies, wreathed in flowers and stuck
over with banners and mottoes, the pies passed along before the hungry
King. And not one of the pies was real! Gradually the King's smile
faded.
There was a wonderful big pie fashioned like a ship,--rigged with masts
and sails and manned by sailor-dolls. There was a fine brown pasty like
a bird's nest, and when it passed the King, off came the cover, and out
flew four-and-twenty blackbirds croaking lustily.
"Good-bye, dinner!" sighed the King, looking after them wistfully.
The Queen nudged him and said: "'Sh! Behave, Your Majesty!" But she also
began to look hungrier and hungrier.
There passed a pie in a carriage drawn by six mules. It seemed piping
hot, for steam came out of it. But when it reached the King it blew up
with a _bang!_ scattering showers of blossoms over the royal party.
"My faith!" cried the King; "methought this was the end of all things.
But it seems not. Here come more and more empty pies!"
The Queen smelled of her salts and grew paler every moment.
One pie had a musical box inside and played a sweet tune as it passed
the King. In one was hidden a tiny dwarf, who popped out like a
jack-in-the-box when the Queen pulled a golden cord.
Still the procession moved on, and so did the hands of the clock; and
the King's hands moved to his ample girdle, which he tightened sharply.
But both he and the pale young Queen were too polite to ask the Lord
Mayor for buns or something to sustain them.
The pie which caused the greatest excitement as it passed along, drawn
by four white horses, was that of Roger, the master cook, who walked
proudly beside it. When it came opposite the King the carriage stopped,
the cover was lifted, and ten beautiful babies on a bed of roses waved
their little hands and began to sing.
The Queen leaned forward eagerly, forgetting to be hungry. "How sweet!
The darlings!" she murmured. "Oh, this is the best of all!"
Roger the cook heard her and flushed with triumph.
But the King grumbled: "Humph! They look good enough to eat, but--my
faith! I hope that this is the end, for soon I must eat something, or I
shall become a cannibal!"
"Your Majesty!" protested the Queen, faintly.
But the King interrupted her.
"What comes here?" he cried. "This looks sensible!" It was Rafe and the
pretty maid bringing up the rear of the procession. Side by side they
walked in cap and apron, he bearing the small, delicately browned pie,
she with a jug of yellow cream. No one paid any attention to them, but
closed in around them, following Roger's chariot.
When Rafe and Meg came opposite the King and Queen, they turned and Rafe
bowed low, holding up the pie as high as he could. The pretty maid
curtsied gracefully, and offered the cream-jug with a winsome smile. The
crowd was fain to hustle them on; but the King struck the floor with his
staff and pointed eagerly at the pie.
"Hold!" he cried. "What have you there?" Every one stopped and began to
stare. Rafe bowed again.
"'T is a pie, Your Majesty," said Rafe simply,--"an apple pie."
"With cream for the top," lisped the little maid, curtsying again.
"Apple pie!" cried the King. "Who ever heard of an apple pie! A pie
should be of savory meat. But of apples!" Words failed to express his
astonishment.
"Butter and sugar, Sire, go to the making of it, and the dust of a
wondrous nut. Will you taste it, Sire?" Rafe held out the pie
temptingly.
"With thick cream to pour on the top--yellow, sweet, rich, thick cream!"
said Meg, lingering over each word as if it melted on her lips.
"Give hither that pie!" almost shouted the hungry King. "I will look
into this matter." And, drawing a dagger from his girdle, he seized and
stabbed the pie to the heart. Sniffing at it eagerly, his eyes grew
round, and he smacked his lips. "It is good, I wager my scepter!" he
cried. "Hand me the cream, fair maid."
The little maid stepped up and daintily poured cream upon the shattered
pie, and without more ado the King began to eat with his dagger. (This
was not considered bad manners in those days.) After the first mouthful
he stopped only to say: "Food of the Fairies! Pie of the Pixies! Cook,
you are a magician!" He went on at a rate which threatened not to leave
a mouthful.
But the Queen pulled at his sleeve. "A bite for me, Your Majesty," she
begged.
And, with an apology, the King handed her what was left, watching her
wistfully till she ate the last crumb.
"Delicious! I never tasted anything finer!" she cried. "I must have the
recipe."
"I must have the cook!" cried the King, turning to Rafe, with a broad
grin on his merry, fat face. "You must come with me and cook such pies
for every meal. Yes, I will have them for breakfast, too," he insisted,
in response to a protest from the Queen.
Just then up stepped Hugh, the Lord Mayor.
"Sire," said he, bowing low, "will Your Majesty deign to point out to me
the pie which has best pleased you, that I may have it set in the place
of honor, and give the prize to the maker?"
"That I cannot do," said the King, "for the pie no longer exists. I have
eaten it!" And he slapped his generous waistband. "But give whatever
prize there may be to this worthy fellow, whom I now dub Baron Applepy.
Baron, wear this ring in token of my pleasure in your pie." He drew a
fine ruby from his finger and gave it to Rafe.
"And this is for the little maid," said the Queen, taking a beautiful
pearl necklace and tossing it over Meg's curls.
But Roger, the master cook, stood by and tore his hair when he saw what
was happening.
Then up came the yoke of white oxen drawing the cart bearing the prize.
And the Lord Mayor gave a goad into Rafe's hands, with words of
congratulation.
"Now, mount and come with me," said the King.
But Rafe hesitated.
"Your Majesty," he replied, "I see no way to make another pie like this
which has pleased you. For I have no more of the magic nuts wherewith to
flavor a second."
The King frowned. "What! No more pie! Is this to be the first and the
last? Sirrah, I am not pleased!"
Then little Meg stepped forth. "The magic nut is the nutmeg," said she.
"My name is Meg, and Granny called the magic nuts after me. I know where
is hidden a store of them. These are my dower."
She emptied her pockets of the nuts which they held, and they were a
precious handful.
"Ha!" cried the King eagerly, "you must marry Baron Applepy, that he may
use your dower in our behalf."
Rafe and the maid looked sidewise at one another.
"You are willing, my dear?" said the Queen, smiling upon Meg.
"Yes," whispered she, with red-apple cheeks.
"Yes, indeed!" cried Rafe when the Queen looked at him.
But again he seemed troubled.
"Your Majesty," he said, "I cannot leave my poor neighbors. There will
be no one to cook for them at my prices."
"You shall have your own price from me," said the King.
Rafe bowed low. "You do me great honor," he said humbly. "But I cannot
leave my poor people, my house and my cow and my apple tree; indeed, I
cannot."
The King looked very angry and raised his staff with a gesture of wrath.
But the Queen laid her hand upon his arm.
"Why may he not live where he will and yet cook the pies for us?" she
said. "A messenger on a fleet horse can bring them to us every day. We
shall then have pies like that first delicious one, made of fresh apples
from that very same red-apple tree of his. They would be best of all."
"True," said the King, reflecting for a moment.
"Please, Your Majesty!" said Meg, in her most winsome tones. "I do so
long to help Rafe pick the red apples for your pies and skim the yellow
cream of the little red cow. And please, I do so long to help him cook
for his poor neighbors, who will miss him sadly if he goes. Now that we
have the prize, we can do much for them. Please, Your Majesty!"
"Please, Your Majesty!" echoed Rafe.
"Please, Your Majesty!" begged the Queen.
So the King hemmed and hawed and yielded. "But see, Baron Applepy," he
said, "that you make me three fine pies every day, for which my swiftest
messenger shall call. Now, farewell to you--and to all! We must be off.
It is past dinner-time."
"Heaven bless Your Majesties," said Rafe and Meg, bowing and curtsying
low.
Then Rafe lifted the little maid into the white cart beside the hundred
sacks of flour and the bag of silver, and amid shouts and cheers away
they drove the white oxen toward the little house on the acre of land
under the red-apple tree, where the little red cow was waiting for them.
And there they lived happily ever after, making three pies a day for the
King at an enormous price, and feeding the beloved poor people, their
neighbors, for no price at all.