_Meg’s Journey to Fairyland_
Now we must leave Bab for a little while, and go back to her sister
Meg, whom we left on the edge of the Wonderful Wood.
“It’s all nonsense!” said Meg to herself, as she entered the big
forest. She turned to speak to Bab, but of course found herself quite
alone. She rubbed her eyes and looked about her wonderingly. It was all
nonsense, undoubtedly, but—where were the others? She felt just a wee
bit frightened. It was rather creepy, really,—this being alone in the
Wonderful Wood.
Well, the only thing to do was to hurry and get out of it, as fast as
she possibly could. She wheeled around, but soon saw, as Bab had seen,
that the forest had closed in behind her, and that there was nothing to
do but go on. So on she went.
She found the path fairly smooth and easy, and her spirits rose. She
walked faster and faster, and even sang to herself as she went. She had
forgotten all about her errand, all about the Fairy Queen and Mother
Goose and Humpty Dumpty. She simply danced along the pretty, shady
wood-path, and hummed little songs, and wondered how long it would be
before she was out of the forest. Meg was younger than Bab, you see,
and even more thoughtless, and so she had all the more to learn and all
the farther to go. And it came about that she had walked twice as far
as Bab’s whole journey had been, before anything befell her that was at
all like an adventure. But when it _did_ happen—Well, it was this way:
She was just beginning to feel a little tired, and a little bored also.
There seemed to be no squirrels nor birds to watch, nor any flowers
to pick, and the path was as straight as a string, and just about as
interesting to Meg!
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed at last, “I thought I should see all sorts
of strange things, and I haven’t seen anything at all yet. I wish
something _would_ happen! I wish I could see something queer and excit—”
“How about me?” demanded a voice at her side. Meg stopped short, and
she and the owner of the voice stood and stared at each other.
He was a small, evil-looking dwarf, dressed in gray, with skin the
colour of his clothes, and a huge hump on his back.
“Who are you?” asked Meg.
“Grump,” said the stranger. “Grump, the Gray Dwarf. And of all the
creatures in the Wonderful Wood, I am the wickedest!”
He seemed remarkably proud of the fact.
Meg felt squirmy and uncomfortable. There was no doubt about it: he did
look very wicked indeed!
“I am not afraid of you!” she said boastfully, though her voice
quavered.
“That’s good!” said Grump, grinning horribly. “For we are to be
comrades for a time!”
Meg felt really frightened now.
“Indeed we are not!” she exclaimed, trying to sound very brave and
careless. “You live in the Wonderful Wood, and I am only passing
through it,—as quickly as possible,” she added with much feeling.
“Yes, yes!” said Grump, still grinning. “As quickly as possible!”
Something in his look made Meg fear that _that_ might not be so very
quickly, after all.
“Come,” continued the Gray Dwarf, holding out a gray hand. “Come with
me!”
And, desperately frightened, but feeling in an odd way that she was
quite weak and helplessly in the power of her new acquaintance, Meg
followed him—where do you think? Into a little black hole in the
ground! As she looked down at it, she did not dream that she could
get into it, but the Gray Dwarf took her hand, and she found herself
slipping in with as much ease as Grump himself.
Down they went through an earthy-smelling passage-way that twisted and
turned through utter darkness. The air was damp and heavy and very cold.
“_Am_ I dreaming, after all?” thought Meg. “I feel like a
mole,—burrowing into the earth like this!”
It seemed to her that they went a very great distance, stumbling along
through the moist ground, with the close earthy smell all about, and no
light anywhere. At last the passage suddenly widened out, and opened
onto a round space like an underground cave, lighted by a low, green
flame that flickered fitfully in one corner.
The walls were all of earth,—fresh, damp earth; and now and then a
little would slip down, the way it does from a heap of mould when
you’ve been digging in the garden. It fell upon the moist earth-floor
at their feet, but it made no sound. There were no echoes in this
underground room where the Gray Dwarf lived. Everything was still,—much
too still to be pleasant, Meg thought. In the earth-walls were
queer little fibrous threads here and there, and overhead some big,
pale, thin things hung down, like frozen snakes, or dead, curving
tree-branches. At first she could not guess what they all were, but
suddenly she saw that they were roots! The roots of trees and plants
and shrubs, and all sorts of growing things! She was indeed far down in
the earth, since she could look up and see the roots of the Wonderful
Wood.
She stood, blinking at the faint green flame, and watched Grump go
across to it. By blowing upon it he made it flare up more brightly,
and the vivid emerald light made Meg’s heart go faster than ever. What
was going to happen to her? Was she going to be burned up? Grump,
having freshened his ghostly fire, proceeded to place on it a huge iron
caldron,—the kind that you always think of witches bending over. This
horrid-looking thing he brought from a shadowy corner. As soon as the
flames touched it, a thick steam began to rise from the big black pot,
filling the air with a queer, spicy smell, and curling clouds of purple
smoke. Grump gave a long, low cry, and waved his arms over the pot.
“Oh, what is it?” Meg exclaimed, in terror.
Grump grinned and glared at her.
“Magic!” he said. “Watch, and you will see something!”
The steam came and came, until it hid both Grump and the pot. Then on
it Meg saw, as though reflected or sketched very dimly, the figure of a
man with glittering eyes, a crown, and a deep red robe. He was looking
down at Grump, who, Meg now saw, was crouching at his feet.
“You have done my bidding?” said the shadowy crimson man. “You have
stopped the messenger sent from Mother Goose to the Fairy Queen?”
“Yes, O Wicked King!” cried Grump.
“You have brought her to your Earth-Home?”
“Yes, O Wicked King!”
“You have let her live so far?”
“Yes, O Wicked King. What does his most august and nobly evil Majesty
desire done with her?”
“Destroy her!” said the Wicked King. “If she is allowed to go to the
Court of the Fairies, she will be taught the spell that frees Humpty
Dumpty, and I shall lose both my prisoner and the spell. Destroy her, I
say! Put her into the big pot!”
He vanished, and instantly the thick steam cleared away. Meg saw Grump
huddled down beside the big pot.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, trembling.
“Put you into the big pot,” said the Gray Dwarf, with a grin of joy.
“You heard the Wicked King’s orders.”
Meg gasped, and looked about her for some way of escape. Then she tried
to think more calmly, and decided that her one chance lay in gaining
time. To do this, she began to talk to the Gray Dwarf as quietly as she
could.
“I really think,” she said, “that if you are going to boil me, you
might tell me what for.”
Grump considered this for a minute. “Well,” he said at last, “I have no
objection to that. You may sit down if you like, and I will explain.”
Meg sat down obediently, though with a quaking heart, and Grump
sat opposite her, still beside the pot. The green flames flickered
uncannily about him as he talked.
“In the first place,” he began, “you must know that I am in the service
of the Wicked King, whom you saw appear just now. He lives in the Great
Red City, beside the Sea of Glass, and he keeps Mother Goose’s son
Humpty Dumpty a prisoner on his city wall. My master is very great and
very cruel, and I obey him in everything. You know, probably, about
the capture of Humpty Dumpty?”
“No, not about the capture,” said Meg. “Only that he _was_ captured.
How did it happen?”
“That is a long story. I will only take time to tell you that I had a
good deal to do with it!” And he grinned again. “Well, there is only
one spell which can set him free, and that spell is in the possession
of one person,—the Queen of the Fairies. It is a very valuable spell,
and she keeps it carefully hidden. A little while ago, Mother Goose
heard of the spell, and she and the Fairy Queen have been sending
messages to each other ever since. The Queen has promised to give it
to the old lady’s messenger, and that is the chief reason why you are
being sent to Fairyland,—to bring back the spell. Now that is _one_
reason why the Wicked King wants to have you killed. Do you see?”
“I suppose so,” said poor Meg, though it did seem rather unfair. “Is
there any other reason?”
“Two,” answered Grump, seeming pleased that she saw the matter so
clearly. “One is that the Wicked King is planning to steal that spell
away from the Queen within another day!”
“But how can he steal a spell?” said Meg, puzzled and interested in
spite of her own danger. “I thought a spell was a—a—well, some words,
you know, or—anyway, I didn’t know that you could really steal it.”
“Oh, yes!” the Gray Dwarf assured her. “This spell is written on a
piece of sky-coloured paper and kept in a crystal box. Well, the Wicked
King is going to have it stolen to-night! Then he can not only keep
Humpty Dumpty forever, but he will own the spell besides. A really good
spell, you know, is always useful for a great many purposes.”
Meg listened with open eyes. And as she heard these things she thought
not only of her own safety, but of poor Humpty Dumpty, who would never
be free, and Mother Goose, who must grieve over her son forever, and
the good Fairy Queen, who would be robbed of her treasure by the Wicked
King. And then she thought of her errand, and Mother Goose’s trust in
her; she had forgotten all about what she had been told to do, and she
felt ashamed of herself. Perhaps, if she had kept her wits about her
as she passed through the Wonderful Wood, and thought steadily of what
she had been sent for, she would have escaped the clutches of the cruel
Gray Dwarf.
Suddenly she felt that she must get away, if only to warn the Fairy
Queen and ask Mother Goose’s pardon. Her determination sharpened her
wits. Once more she tried to gain time. She looked about her to find
the way by which she had come. The hole in the earth wall looked
smaller than ever, and moreover it was some distance away and on the
side nearest Grump. There did not seem to be much hope of escape, but
she did not feel entirely discouraged.
“You said there was another reason,” she reminded her jailer. Grump had
started to blow up the fire again, with glances of wicked glee in her
direction. As she spoke, he stopped and sat down once more.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “Well, the other reason for your death is this:
In that caldron is all the magic power I have. It was that which made
you obliged to follow me when I stopped you in the Wonderful Wood. It
was that which brought me the vision of the Wicked King a few minutes
ago. Without it I should be just an ordinary, commonplace, every-day
gnome. The contents of the caldron is made of souls,—the souls of all
sorts of things,—the soul of a flower, the soul of a tiger, the soul
of a butterfly, a nightingale, a lizard, a sea-gull, a snake, a bat,
a porcupine, a goblin, an ogre, a dove! All kinds and conditions of
souls, you see! But the magic essence will be complete only when the
soul of a mortal is added to it. _Then_ my master the King and I shall
be the lords of all this land! Therefore _you_ must go into the pot!”
Meg’s heart leaped. She had thought of something! It was a tiny chance,
but still a chance.
“Did you say,” she asked, looking at the caldron as though in awe,
“that all your power comes from that?”
Grump laughed.
“Every bit!” he returned. “Why, if that were tipped over—” He stopped
short, and looked at her as though he were afraid he might have told
her too much. Meg’s heart beat faster and faster, but she managed to
speak in a sad, frightened tone:
“Oh, I hate the thought of having my soul used in a magic essence—Oh,
must I really be put into the pot?”
She had risen to her feet, and was moving slowly toward the pot,
looking very much afraid. Grump had risen too, and was blowing the fire
into big, green flames.
“You really must!” he said cheerfully. “It won’t hurt, so you needn’t
mind in the least!”
Meg went nearer and nearer. How big and black the pot looked!
“Now,” said the Gray Dwarf, “shall I put you in, or will you jump?”
“Oh, I’ll jump—if I really do have to get in,” said Meg, seeming to
shrink.
“Well, are you ready?” asked Grump, impatiently.
“Quite ready!” cried Meg, and sprang forward.
But, instead of jumping into the pot, she threw herself against it with
all her weight. It swayed, toppled, and then went over with an awful
hiss of steam and a wild leap of wicked, green fire. Meg heard the Gray
Dwarf scream with fury and cry: “My power is gone! My magic is gone!
What shall I do?”
He was just in front of her, and tried to stop her with a snarl of
rage. But she was bigger than he was, and stronger now, and she pushed
him away, and plunged past him into the dark passage-way once more.
On—on—up—up she struggled, leaving the green light and Grump’s cries
farther and farther behind her. She breathed the damp, earthy air with
joy in spite of its heavy closeness. On—on—up—up!... Suddenly she was
in the outer air again, blinking and gasping and covered with clinging
earth.
At first she was so glad to be safe that she noticed nothing
remarkable; but after a moment she cried out with surprise. The
Wonderful Wood had entirely disappeared, and she was standing in a
great meadow filled with rainbow flowers more lovely than any mortal
ever saw before!
[Illustration]
VIII
_The Court of the Fairy Queen_
[Illustration]
[Illustration]