PETER AND MIG, THE MAGICIAN
“Oh, there you are,” said Riggy. “I was afraid you had decided not to
wait.”
“No, I’m still here,” said Peter, jumping up, “but I haven’t thought of
a way yet, have you?”
“No,” replied Riggy, pulling a very long and sad face, “but now I’ve
got _my_ own troubles.”
“What’s happened?” asked Peter.
“Mig became very angry with me because I didn’t notice and put his
nightcap on wrong side out, and then I got so nervous that I put ice in
his hot-water bottle instead of hot water, so after tweaking my nose
and boxing my ears he--he sent me away.”
“You mean he doesn’t want you to work for him any more?”
“Yes--I’m discharged,” and Riggy hung his yellow head.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Peter.
“You don’t have to be,” Riggy returned. “I’ve been very unhappy with
Mig, so I don’t care, except I’d like to help you free the princess.”
And now an idea popped into Peter’s head, an idea that fairly lifted
him off his feet. “Riggy,” cried Peter, “I’m going to take your place.”
“What?” said Riggy, perfectly astonished.
“Mig needs a helper, doesn’t he?”
“He can’t get along without one,” said Riggy. “When he wakes up he’ll
be very angry with himself for sending me away.”
“All right--you can have my armor.”
“What?” cried Riggy, eyes popping.
“You can have my armor,” repeated Peter.
“Oh, _can_ I?” said Riggy, his blue eyes dancing, “Oh, can I, really?”
“Yes, because I don’t want Mig to know I’m the same boy who paid a gold
ducat to see the princess,” said Peter, taking off his helmet.
Riggy grinned and wrinkled his nose. “I see,--you’re going to fool him,
is that it?”
“I’m going to try to fool him, but you can’t have my sword,” Peter
said, as Riggy reached for it.
With Riggy’s help, Peter was soon out of his armor and stood beneath
the tree in his white night gown. “Now, give me your clothes,” he said,
and Riggy did so, gladly. They far from fitted Peter, the patched and
yellow doublet and hose, and Riggy had a hard time getting into Peter’s
armor, but finally both boys were dressed again and Riggy strutted
about as proud as old Punch himself. “I’m going right off, this minute,
and do a noble deed,” he shouted. “All my life I’ve wanted to do a
noble deed.”
“Well, there’s lots of them to be done around here,” said Peter, “but
you better find yourself a sword first.”
“I’m going to, right straight off,” chortled Riggy. “I know a
sword-maker who’ll make me a beautiful one.”
“Here’s a golden ducat, maybe he’ll want some pay,” said Peter, giving
him one of the coins he had received for dancing in the square.
“Oh, thanks, Sir Knight,” Riggy said, blinking back tears. “Don’t you
want me to stay and help you? Mig is a terrible little man.”
“No. You go along and do a noble deed,” Peter replied. “I think I can
get on very well by myself.”
“Well, then be careful,” Riggy warned, and after shaking hands with
Peter and wishing him all sorts of good luck and thanking him again and
again, the funny fellow ran away to find the shop of the sword-maker,
and Peter walked up the little street to the tent of Mig the magician.
There was a sign on the tent which said, “Keep out--Mig is asleep,”
but Peter paid no attention to it and walked in. There was the wicked
little Mig sound asleep under a yellow blanket, his head, in a blue
nightcap with a red tassel, resting on a hot-water bottle. His
whiskers, in two braids, were outside of the covers, and his tiny eyes
were tightly shut and his mouth was open. He was sleeping on top of the
two big boxes with the gold locks, but Peter could not tell, for the
life of him, which box contained the princess and which box contained
poor Dallahan, they looked so much alike.
As he stood waiting for Mig to wake up, he heard a low groan come from
one of the boxes and then a sweet, high voice singing a sad little
ballad.
Oh, the princess is lost in the deep, deep, wood,
Oh, sigh and sigh again;
For she wandered where she never should,
Oh, sigh and sigh once more.
Oh, the princess will die when the snow comes down,
Oh, sigh and sigh again;
For she’ll be cold in her summer gown,
Oh, sigh and sigh once more.
And as the song finished, the little magician woke up and called
loudly, “Riggy! Riggy, come here or I’ll box your ears and tweak your
nose!” And then he remembered what he had done and said, “Oh, Dingle
Berry Pie, what a fool am I! If I didn’t send that stupid boy away! Now
what am I going to do?”
Peter stepped up and said, hiding his sword behind his back, “I’m at
your service, sir.”
Mig stared, his whiskers standing out straight with surprise, “Who--who
are you?” he demanded.
“I--I was standing close by when you told Riggy to go and--and so I
thought--”
“You thought you’d like his place, did you?” said Mig, taking the very
words out of Peter’s mouth. “What’s your name?”
“R-Robin,” said Peter, surprised at himself for saying that. He must
have been thinking of that bird, the one in the new brown and red coat
that said hello to him when he lay under the white berry tree.
“Robin what?”
“Just plain Robin.”
“Humph!” said the magician, and then he walked up and down in his night
gown. “Haven’t you a family?”
“N-not here, sir.”
“Where are they?”
“Oh, way, way ahead, sir.”
“How far ahead?”
“As far ahead as you can go from here.”
“Well, that’s all right. They won’t bother then. Can you tell the
difference between a camel and another camel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How?”
“Well, some camels have one hump and some have two, if that’s what you
mean.”
The magician paused and looked Peter up and down. “I don’t,” he said,
“but I get the point. I’ll hire you. Now, fetch me my clothes and I’ll
dress myself, with your help, because it’s time for us to be going.”
Peter fetched him his doublet and hose and his moldy green cloak and
his red pointed shoes.
After he was dressed, Mig said, “We’re going on to Giggletown from
here. Lots of wee children live in Giggletown and they’ll pay gold
moneys to see a princess with silver toes. Ahhh”--And he rubbed his
hands together again with their sandpapery sound.
“How far is Giggletown?” Peter asked.
“Oh, just over the hills and faraway,” Mig replied, vaguely. “Don’t ask
foolish questions. Now, get busy. The moon will be up before we can
count ten.”
Peter never worked harder in his life. He took down the scarlet
tent and rolled it up, poles and all, and when that was done, there
appeared from out of nowhere a blue cart with red wheels drawn by a
milk-white donkey with a pair of very, very long pink ears and the most
disgusted expression.
“Load her up,” ordered Mig, but Peter could not manage the boxes by
himself, so Mig helped him, and also assisted with the round sacks that
were very heavy and clinked with the clink of gold.
After everything was on the cart, Mig climbed up to the front seat and
took the reins in his hands and clucked, clucked with his tongue to the
disgusted white donkey.
“Jump on the back,” screamed Mig to Peter, “or I’ll tweak your nose
and box your ears,” so Peter scrambled up among the boxes and sacks of
gold, and the donkey started off, still looking disgusted. And up came
the moon, looking like a round gold ducat itself, and bats began to
fly.