THE
ADVENTURES OF
PETERKIN.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
“Inside his Pumperkin house”
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
ADVENTURES _of_
PETERKIN
BY
Gilly Bear
AUTHOR OF “TOM TIT TALES,” “THE GREEN TULIP,”
“FUN IN THE FOREST,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BY
[Illustration]
HELEN E.
OHRENSCHALL
[Illustration]
SAM’L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY
NEW YORK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1916, by
SAM’L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY
NEW YORK
By kind Permission of _The Evening Sun_, New York
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PETERKIN PUMPERKIN 13
II. PETERKIN AFLOAT 17
III. PETERKIN AND THE WHALE 21
IV. PETERKIN’S APPETITE 25
V. PETERKIN’S COOKING 29
VI. AN HOUR OF STORM 32
VII. PETERKIN ESCAPES 35
VIII. PETERKIN IN THE VALLEY 39
IX. PETERKIN TAKES A FALL 43
X. PETERKIN IN THE PALACE 47
XI. PETERKIN TELLS HIS TALE 51
XII. PETERKIN’S FATE 55
XIII. THE TOOTHLESS ENEMY 59
XIV. PETERKIN’S RESCUE 64
XV. THE WATER OF 69
BOUNCEABILITY
XVI. THE VALE OF THE BLIND 74
XVII. PETERKIN PROMISES 79
XVIII. THE VALLEY OF SILENCE 83
XIX. EARS TOO SHARP 87
XX. THE VALLEY OF DANCING 92
LEGS
XXI. THE VALLEY OF 97
UP-IN-THE-AIR
XXII. PETERKIN IN A MUDDLE 101
XXIII. THE LOST PUMPERKIN 104
XXIV. OUT OF HIDING 108
XXV. A PRECIOUS PRISONER 112
XXVI. THE VILLAIN’S STORY 116
XXVII. IN THE CITY 121
XXVIII. HOW PETERKIN TRICKED THEM 125
ALL
XXIX. PETERKIN BRINGS JOY 130
XXX. VALLEY TO VALLEY 135
XXXI. THE PATIENT PRINCESS 139
XXXII. THE VILLAIN SATISFIED 143
XXXIII. THE GLORIOUS ENDING 148
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
LIST OF COLORED PLATES
“Inside his Pumperkin house” _Frontispiece_
PAGE
“An early morning peek” 21
“Then it grew darker than midnight” 32
“So they sat themselves on the flying 43
sea-shell”
“‘Take him away!’ ordered the King” 55
“The whole leap took but a moment” 69
“A young peasant girl came toward him” 83
“There came floating toward him in 97
midair”
“The windows in the palace were 108
gleaming”
“She strained her eyes to watch the 121
distant harbor”
“He jumped upon his shoulders” 135
“Where was it bound? Haven’t you 148
guessed?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
To
Robert Stuart
Marquis
ONE day old—
And all your life ahead of you!
How I wish that plodding I
Could be there instead of you!
_Tops and toys and picture books;
Sliding ponds and summer brooks;
Birds among the tree-tops green;
Flowers thrusting to be seen—
And about you, like a charm
To protect you, Mother’s arm...._
Just one day——
And thousands more to come to you!
How the chirrupy old crickets
Of the hearth will hum to you!
_All the things that brightest gleam
In a mother’s brightest dream:
Sunshine that is free from rain,
Laughter that is free from pain;
Faith and glory, love and hope
Lie along your life’s long slope...._
One day old—
While within your cradle, you
Smile to think of all the things
Life will freely ladle you!
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
_HERE is the story of Peterkin Pumperkin,
Lived in a patch, and afraid of a bumperkin.
The wind came along with a jig and a jumperkin—
When Peterkin stopped, he was all in a lumperkin._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I
PETERKIN PUMPERKIN
I KNOW you have all heard of the little man who lived inside a pumpkin.
Just why he lived there I don’t exactly remember, but I can’t imagine
that he used to sleep so comfortably inside his tiny bowl of a bed-room.
[Illustration]
For, when the growly wind took to blowing over the pumpkin patch and set
the fat yellow balls of pumpkins swaying from this side to that on their
slender vines, poor Peterkin would be jounced clear out of bed and sent
spinning round and round the circled pumpkin wall.
“Ugh, ouch!” he would groan. “My poor head’s all bumps and bruises. Ugh,
ugh! Why in the name of everything foolish did I ever come to live in a
pumpkin? Why didn’t I stay in a sensible house, and live like other
folks live? Oh, ouch!” And then, as the wind gave one last roar and his
jouncing little home gave one last, extra large somersault on its vine,
Peterkin would usually find himself thwacked back into bed again, with
his feet on the pillow and his head buried deep in the mattress.
The wind, of course, thought it the greatest fun in the world. The wind
was only a jolly playmate, after all—even if he was a bit too rough
about it. And the wind could never understand what made Peterkin so
angry in the matter.
“Whee! I love to play free and frolic! I love to send the little leaves
whirling and the dust mounds swirling, and the heavy laden pine-boughs
tossing with sighs. I love to chase the thin gray wisps of mist and the
spattering rain-drops as they fall, and to rattle the frosted window
panes. Whee! I’m sure I’m more than gentle with Peterkin Pumperkin. I
always take care not to snap his anchor stem! I always leave him fast
upon his vine. Whee, whiz!”
But then there came a night when myriad snowflakes were falling over the
patch. It was more than the mischievous wind could stand. He _must_ get
in among those flakes! He must make them jig and dart and dive in
crooked merriment!
He rushed down upon them, charging with a trumpet’s roar. And in his
wild path he rolled the clumsy pumpkins to this side and that, until
their rumble fairly shook the earth.
Poor Peterkin was dozing at his tiny stove, just then—for it was very
chilly and shivery inside his Pumperkin house. Whee! whistled the wind.
Whee! it shrieked, right over his head.
Then, suddenly, the terrible thing happened! The thing that Peterkin had
feared so many years! SNAP! went the stem of Peterkin’s Pumperkin—off
the vine, out of the patch—free, anchorless, guideless! And away and
away rolled the pumpkin house—down the bumpy field, across the ditch,
through the brook, to the top of a steep hill. Then away and away, down,
down, down, went Peterkin and his Pumperkin—over and over in swift,
dizzy tumbles. Head up, feet down, head down, feet up—down, down, down!
Then up another hill. Up, up, to its top, with poor Peterkin turning an
unwilling somersault at every yard!
But, oh, at the top of this hill is a precipice—and beyond it, miles
below, is the sea. Ah, what will happen now to Peterkin? His pumpkin
house reaches the edge of the precipice, seems to linger for a short
moment, then shoots far out and down, down into the sea! It sinks
beneath the waves, then slowly bobs up again, sinks again, comes up
again and floats peacefully away with the tide.
And now, with this strange happening, begin the marvellous adventures of
Peterkin in his Pumperkin! Let’s hope that in the next of them the wind,
that merry playfellow, will try to be more gentle.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
II
PETERKIN AFLOAT
[Illustration]
WHEN last we heard of Peterkin—do you remember?—he was afloat on the
waves in his pumpkin house. And sailing swiftly out to sea!
Peterkin, as soon as he had gained his breath, climbed out of the tangle
of bed-clothes and furniture which his sudden fall had thrown over and
all about him. Then he pinched himself in every limb, and was glad to
find everything whole and sound.
“Whew!” he gasped. “That _was_ an escape! To think of landing in the
sea!”
He pulled his little ladder out from under a tumble of pots and pans and
bric-a-brac and blankets, and set it up against the wall. Then up he
clambered, step by step, until he had poked his head through the hole,
in the Pumperkin’s top, which served for a door and a window and
ceiling, all at the same time. It gave him just a glimpse of the open
air and the wide stretch of sea on every hand. Waves—blue, choppy,
hopping waves, as far as Peterkin could see ... nothing but waves!
Well, there was nothing for it but to go back into his house and sit by
the stove and begin to cry. Not that crying could help matters any—but
Peterkin was sad at all these sudden happenings, and somehow his tears
did make him feel a little better.
“Boohoo!” wept he. “It’s all the fault of the wicked wind! One moment I
was safe and dozing at home in my old pumpkin patch; the next, here I am
bobbing and lost on the face of the ocean. The only thing I have to be
thankful for is that there’s still a warm fire in my stove. Boohoo!”
And oh, the saddest part of it all is that he wept so hard, and so many
of his tears spilled down into the stove that—what did he do but put the
fire out! And soon enough his pumpkin house grew cold and cheerless and
wet with the briny waves which came dashing in through the
door-window-ceiling.
[Illustration]
It was a dreary party now. Peterkin felt his yellow ball of a boat leap
and fall with every wave. Everything rattled and jingled to the see-saw
motion. He grew dizzy. He could scarcely steady himself to climb up the
ladder a second time. He could hardly see the white froth at the crests
of the waves and the deep green of their troughs. He made out a ship
passing by, miles and miles away. He screamed and waved his coat and
whistled between two fingers—did everything he could think of to make
the sailors see and save him. But the ship sailed on and away, until the
white specks of its sails had faded from view.
Night came on, gray and then blue, and the waves never tired of their
ceaseless jigging. Peterkin crouched on the floor of his Pumperkin and
thought of the fate which awaited him, and worried himself into a
troubled sleep. Many times during the long, dark hours he woke up with a
start, and, through the hole in the house-top, caught a glimpse of the
stars and a smack of the salt spray. The last time he awoke, the stars
had been swallowed up in the graying sky by a streak of glowing red, and
Peterkin knew it was the dawn.
Later, when the sunshine came straggling into his shell on the drops of
glistening spray, he climbed his ladder for an early morning peek. White
mists were rolling back across the waves, and ... oh! what was that?
Not a hundred yards away, a thin fountain, shimmering like silver, rose
up out of the green of the sea and curved down again upon it. Again it
came—and again! Up, up—fifty feet into the air, a gleaming fountain! And
then, as it came nearer and nearer, Peterkin caught the glimpse of a
black fin ... and a huge jaw!
Ugh! What could it be?
[Illustration:
“An early morning peek”
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
III
PETERKIN AND THE WHALE
[Illustration]
A WHALE! Yes, it was a big, black, hungry whale! And it was drawing
closer and closer to Peterkin’s pumpkin boat every time he blinked.
Peterkin could see its forked tail now and its great, darkly gleaming
sides. Once it disappeared completely under the foam, and when it rose
again, it was so near that Peterkin saw its ugly little eyes and a white
row of jagged teeth. Whenever it flashed its tail and fins, there was a
great churning of water, and the Pumperkin would roll and rock so
fiercely that it almost dumped its poor owner into the ocean.
The whale, I’m sure, did not know what to make of it. The whale was used
to boats, of course—but boats with sails and pointed prows and sailors
in the rigging. While here was something round and fat, and such a
golden yellow! No bow it had, nor stern, nor sails, nor flags, nor
rudder. “Is it really and truly a boat?” thought the whale. Well, this
would have to be looked into very closely!
So the big whale came puffing and fountaining up to the little
Pumperkin.
“Oh, oh,” it sighed, “what a pretty thing to frisk with! Just like a
play-toy! Here’s where I have my day’s fun!” And with that it dived deep
under the pumpkin boat and came up on the other side. “Haw, haw,” it
chuckled—as only a whale can chuckle—“what bully good sport! Just to
look at that little man who is peeking out over the side of this yellow
ball! Just to see how surprised he looks to find me over here, where he
didn’t expect me to be! Haw, haw!” And the whale gave another frolicsome
wiggle to his tail—nearly upsetting the Pumperkin again.
As for Peterkin, he was chattering with fear. He did not know what was
coming next! Perhaps the whale was about to swallow him for breakfast.
Yes, yes, it was surely up to some mischief, was this black whale. For
it had disappeared again. Oh, what now?
True, the playful whale had taken another dive under the bottom of the
pumpkin. But it didn’t bother to come up on the other side. It just
stayed there under water, directly beneath the Pumperkin.
[Illustration]
“Haw, I wonder what would happen if I should squirt my fountain into the
air?” thought the whale—and being a whale, it had to take a long while
to think it over. In the dreadful pause, Peterkin trembled so hard that
his stove and his bed and all the furniture took to rattling, too.
Then, suddenly, the Pumperkin, Peterkin and all, shot fifty feet high
into the air! Up, up, like a bubble at the top of a mighty geyser, it
rose with the stream of the whale’s fountain. For the wink of an eye, it
seemed to hang there—then down it came again—down with a spatter and
splash into the trough of the sea!
Peterkin could stand it no longer. He screamed aloud—with such a scream
as the whale had never heard. It was a scream to make every fish in the
sea shudder along its fins.
“Oh, dear me!” sighed the whale, “I have made an enemy. I’ve been
hurting somebody’s feelings, I fear. I should have been very glad to
make a breakfast of that little man and his yellow bubble, if only he
hadn’t minded and had acted cheerfully about it. But now, since he’s so
cross and cranky, I shall punish him by going away and never looking at
him again. So there!”
Which was just what the big whale did. And it never could understand why
the little man clapped his hands and laughed with delight when he saw it
dwindle away into the waves of the distance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
IV
PETERKIN’S APPETITE
[Illustration]
NOW all this while poor Peterkin had not had a single bit to eat. Not a
dry biscuit even. And as for a whole meal, why—that was out of the
question. For wasn’t his stove drearily cold? And the eggs in his basket
all crushed by the many falls his Pumperkin had taken? And he was
hungry. So would you be, if you had gone so long without a meal—and
Peterkin, for all he lived in a pumpkin, was not so far different from
you. He sat and listened to the slap of the waves upon the bottom of his
round yellow boat and rubbed his empty stomach mournfully.
Suddenly, the Pumperkin gave a lurch and a fling up-ward. Then again and
again! Oh, what was it now? Another whale? Peterkin rushed up his
ladder, and ... oh, it was _land_!
Yes, directly ahead of him, the waves were combing into a high, frothy
surf thundering down upon a stretch of yellow sands. Behind that, he
could see tall trees spreading their broad palm leaves in tufts of
brightest green; and a low hill of glistening rock, where purple flowers
clung and orange-leaved vines were twining.
“Land!” cried Peterkin in rapture. “Land at last!”
Sure enough, the pumpkin boat gave a last leap in the swirl of the surf
and came down on something firm and grating. It was safe on the sands of
the shore.
In a jiffy Peterkin had hauled up his ladder and let it down on the
other side. Then down he climbed, waded swiftly through the foamy edge
of spume and dashed up on the beach. Before he did another thing, he
danced a jig—which was Peterkin’s way of showing how happy and thankful
he was. So you may be sure it was a very merry jig he danced!
Then he went wisely back and pushed and pulled at his Pumperkin until it
was high and dry upon the shore. Next he lifted his cold stove out and
set it in a dark little cave of the rocks, where the rain might never
find it in stormy weather.
“But a lot of good my stove will be to me if I cannot find something to
cook on it!” thought hungry Peterkin.
[Illustration]
So he searched the length of yellow sand. But he found nothing there
excepting a few empty shells, pink and gray, like the glow of a pearl.
He searched the mosses under the palm trees—but only a few nuts had
fallen from the tufts overhead, and these were so hard and so bitter
that the taste of them puckered up his face with sour twists. He climbed
the hill of glistening stone until he could see from its summit the tops
of thousands and thousands more of just such trees—like so many green
and waving feather dusters—a whole forestful, swaying to the horizon’s
boundary.
And there at last, on the tip top of the rocks, he seized upon a handful
of the purple flowers and another of the orange-leaved vine.
“If nothing else,” he planned, “I shall make a dainty salad of flower
and leaf and eat it from a plate of pearly sea-shell.”
But alas! he was still to learn the evil of plucking strange things for
salads!
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
V
PETERKIN’S COOKING
[Illustration]
HIS arms full of leaves and flowers, Peterkin hurried back to the little
black cave, where his stove was in hiding.
“This cave shall be my kitchen,” he told himself. “Under its shadow I
shall cook my meals and brew my broths, and boil and broil and bake....
Only, I quite forgot, I have nothing to cook. Nothing but flowers and
leaves.”
He thought for a long while, and finally he decided that, instead of
having just a cold and fragrant salad, he should heat them all up into a
smoking stew. He should have a meal to warm the cockles of his heart.
But, when he had gathered the stalks of withered palm leaves and had
crammed them into the cindery throat of his stove, he had to wait
another little while before he could figure out just how to make a
flame. At length he remembered having read the way to strike a spark
with two pieces of sharp rock. So he snatched up a pair of stones and
smashed them and crashed them against each other until the fiery sparks
were darting down into the mouth of the stove—into the midst of the
fuel. There was a sudden bursting into red flame, and the fire was
started!
[Illustration]
Then Peterkin—clever cook that he was—laid his purple flowers and his
orange vines prettily within the cup of a sea-shell, and sprinkled them
over with salt water of the surf. Then he laid shell and all upon the
stove and waited for results.
Nor had he to wait so long. For, all in a twinkle, there was a monstrous
pouf! Great billows of smoke, brown and lavender, gushed up from the
heart of the sea-shell and spread themselves across the sky. There came
a resounding crackle of flames ... the whole shell, trailing its glowing
mists behind it, rose up, up, above the tree-tops, into the clouds, and
out of sight! It was gone, forever and aye.
For a long while poor Peterkin could scarcely realize all that had
happened so much of a sudden. He stood staring up at the dwindling speck
of the sea-shell and wondering ... where could his meal have
disappeared? And what must he do now for another?
“And I am so hungry, too,” he sighed. “Not a bite to eat since I and my
Pumperkin left the patch. Well, there’s nothing for it but that I begin
to search through the whole forest of green palms. Perhaps I shall find
a scarlet cockatoo, or a yellow-tailed dove, to carry back with me for
dinner.”
But, indeed, he felt so weak from want of food that he could scarcely
stand. He lay down on the sunny stretch of the sands and half closed his
eyes. He could see, in a blur, that the low line where the sea and the
sky met, far away, was smothered in black clouds—and that little streaks
of angry red seemed to be flashing in the black. He asked himself,
drowsily, was this a storm approaching? Was it a hurricane, or what....
And then, before he had time to answer himself, he fell asleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
VI
AN HOUR OF STORM
[Illustration]
PETERKIN woke up with a start. Something was roaring in his ears. A
rushing shower of sand stung his cheeks. The wind was shrieking behind
him, across the low hill and in among the palm trees. At his feet, the
waves of the surf were hammering down upon the beach in great, black,
frothing mountains, until the earth itself seemed trembling. The air was
cold and swept across his face in fresh, tossing gusts.
[Illustration:
“Then it grew darker than midnight”
]
He jumped to his feet and ran. He was afraid of something—he did not
know what. He ran, stumbling, to the crest of the hill. He could look
out, now, across the sea of gray waves on one side and the sea of green
tree-tops on the other. Above him the sky was a mass of heavy, darkening
clouds, a field of clashing, rumbling shadows. Every little while it
would cleave apart, and down to the sea would spin the forks of blinding
lightning in jagged craziness. Then all heaven and earth would mutter
and roar and take to trembling.
[Illustration]
Palm leaves, torn from the trees, went flying off, high overhead, in
somersaulting circles. Eddies of golden sand swirled the length of the
shore. The wind, heavy with salt spray, wailed louder and louder.
Then it grew darker than midnight. Peterkin could see nothing now. He
knelt among the snapping, creaking vines and buried his face against the
beaten-down flowers.
The rain began. A few warm, pattering drops at first—then a sudden heavy
downpour, streaming and cold. The vines were floating with drooping
leaves upon a lake of rain, and the little flowers disappeared
completely. The beach below was guttered with brown water.
Gradually then the rain began to lessen. The clouds turned a lighter
gray, until they broke apart in a long, uneven rift and showed a gap of
blue. The sunshine came through this gap in a softly beaming shaft. High
against the dark hung a curving rainbow, like an arch of jewels.
The rainbow faded, the sunshine grew stronger and more golden, the last
wisps of cloud sank away in the blue of the sky. The sea was calm now
and blue. Nothing seemed to be moving upon it excepting the tiny darts
of gleaming sunbeams. All was peace again....
Only—something—far out at sea—Oh! what was it? Something round and
yellow! A tiny yellow spot, sailing out, out toward the horizon!
Peterkin looked down at the shore, his heart jumping into his throat.
Yes, alas! His Pumperkin was gone! His pumpkin house had been swept away
by the storm—swept out to sea!
Yes, his house, his boat, his darling Pumperkin was sailing away from
him—was lost and gone! Ah, what would his fate be now?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
VII
PETERKIN ESCAPES
[Illustration]
PETERKIN was hungrier than ever. He had lost his faithful pumpkin, too!
Oh, what could he do? He pondered a long while. He could try to cook
some more flowers and vines on his stove. But, no ... he remembered what
had happened the last time he tried. And, it seemed, there wasn’t
anything else to eat on all the shore.
He must escape, then. He must flee this lonely beach. He must wander
away to somewhere ... he didn’t know where—just somewhere else.
But how? For he had no Pumperkin now. His yellow house of a boat had
been swept off on the waves, out beyond the horizon. At last, as he
stood in deep thought, a merry idea came popping into his head. Indeed,
it was an idea so full of mad adventure that, when it came to him, he
had to burst out laughing and clapped his hands in glee. For he
remembered what a comical thing had happened at the stove an hour
before.
So he hastened to kindle a roaring fire in the black iron throat of its
oven. Then he ran this way and that on the beach until, half sunk in the
sands, he found a huge, pearly sea-shell. He tore it out and carried it
back and set it on the stove. To make sure, he added a sprinkling of
vines and flowers and silver sea froth. Then he climbed up on the top of
his stove and sat himself down in the cup of the shell. Ouch! it was
hot!
[Illustration]
Just as before, there was a little curl of lavender smoke, a little
shivering and rocking—then POUF! Up went shell and Peterkin and all!
Up, up, sailing up! Peterkin, clutching madly at the sharp sides of the
shell, could feel the rush of wind against his face. He dared not look
down, but he knew that the shore and all the wide-spread trees upon it
were growing smaller and more distant. Something gray and filmy spun
over his eyes, like a silken veil. He was in the clouds. Up, up, into
the sunny blue again, where he could see the clouds below him now in
great lazy billows. Up, up, always up!
Once the fragile shell groaned, as if it would give way into shatters
and send its rider hurtling toward the hidden earth. Once it bumped
against the great black, cindery side of a dead star and nearly turned
topsy-turvy. Once its pearly lining cracked dangerously under the heated
blaze of the nearby sun.
Now the flying shell and its rider were floating forward. And down, too.
Down in a slow, curving line of grace—slowly, slowly down and forward,
through the clouds and below them. Peterkin could see the high hills of
a strange country now—a country where all the fields were yellow with
grain, set in quaint squares like a checker board, and all the hills
were soft with the green of pines. A silver thread of a river ran
through the middle of the valley, and Peterkin could make out now the
twinkling red roofs of cottages. It was the most peaceful scene he had
ever come upon.
“Oh, how I wish I were there!” he sighed.
Which no sooner uttered than down dived his sea-shell straight upon the
soft breast of a yellow haystack. Deep into the hay it landed, with
never a bump or a scrape. Peterkin was safe in the valley.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
VIII
PETERKIN IN THE VALLEY
[Illustration]
AN old farmer came hobbling out of his house, along the little path that
ran to the edge of the haystack. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes
well-nigh popped from his head at the sight of so strange a fellow in
his haystack.
“Heigh!” cried the farmer, “what are you doing in my stack, eh? And
what’s that silly, pearly thing you have at your side? What are you
doing in this peaceful valley, eh?”
“I’m flying,” replied Peterkin, climbing down to the ground. “I’ve flown
from there to here, from the earth to the stars, from the moon to the
sun ... and here I am, hungry as hungry can be. So come along, old
farmerman, and feed me full of all the best things of your cupboard.”
“Not I!” cried the toothless old farmer. “Not until you tell me your
whole story.”
[Illustration]
So they sat themselves down in the shade of a blossoming tree, and
Peterkin told the tale of his adventures; of how he had lived in the
pumpkin patch, and the wind had swept him away, in his pumpkin house,
far upon the sea; and of the storms and the frisky whale, and the desert
shore, and the loss of Pumperkin, and of how he made his final escape in
the cup of the flying shell ... and here he was!
The old farmer listened, with growing wonder. He could only shake his
head and lick his toothless gums with his long tongue and say, “Tut,
tut, what a queer affair! Tut, tut, tut!”
Then he scratched himself very long and hard, and broke into a red-faced
chuckling. It was plain to see he had just had a new, sly thought!
“I’ve never seen a shell,” said he, “because I’ve never seen the sea.
The sea is so far away from here ... it doesn’t touch our little valley
at all. The thunder of its waves never comes to our ears, and the sting
of its spray never flicks us. Perhaps that’s why we’re called the
_peaceful_ valley. We never mind anything excepting our own business,
nor care for anyone who dwells outside the boundary of our hills. Tut,
tut!” And he sighed.
“And yet, for all your happy valley,” declared Peterkin, “you seem to be
sighing unhappily for something. Tell me, what is it?”
“A new set of teeth,” wept the old fellow. “That’s what I need. I lost
my old set—oh, so many years ago. And there’s no place to find a new one
in all the valley.”
“Ho, ho, that’s easily fixed,” laughed Peterkin. “You shall come with me
on my sea-shell, up into the sky, over the hills, until we reach some
huge and busy city. I have no doubt of it—you may find a new set of
teeth there.”
Now, that was just what the old farmer was wanting. When he heard this
generous offer, he wasted no time, but ran to sit himself on the shell.
“But, ho, what about my reward?” said Peterkin. “Not so fast, please.
First you must feed me a fine meal—a meal to take away all my two days’
hunger and to make me fat and glad.”
“Agreed!” cried the farmer.
So he took the starving Peterkin into his house and set before him a
whole tableful of dishes: thick soups and red, juicy meats and white
slabs of fish from the brookside, and frothy-leaved salads, ripening
fruits ... and a whole mountain of desserts. Peterkin did not know where
to begin, and having once begun, did not know where to end. The result
was that he ate the whole tableful, from the first soup to the last
dessert.
But little did he guess what a wicked trick his appetite had played him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
“So they sat themselves on the flying sea-shell”
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
IX
PETERKIN TAKES A FALL
[Illustration]
NO sooner had Peterkin satisfied his hunger and wiped his mouth than the
old farmer fussed and fidgeted to start on their journey. Peterkin
couldn’t understand why he was in such a hurry—but then Peterkin had a
full set of teeth, while the farmer had none. And it was in search of a
new set that they were going.
So they sat themselves on the flying sea-shell and were off and away.
But it was strange what a creaking and groaning came from the faithful
shell. True, it went up, up, as high as ever before; but it went so
slowly and by such rickety jumps and bounds, as if its wings were lamed.
The old farmer was almost jounced completely off his seat ten times. His
long gray beard was tousling over his eyes in the helter-skelter rush of
the wind. He well-nigh died of fright.
Peterkin, too, was afraid. Not that he wasn’t accustomed, by now, to
this skimming through the clouds. But something was wrong ... yes,
something was certainly wrong. His sea-shell had never acted this way
before. Oh, listen! It was groaning and grunting now, louder than ever.
Peterkin thought he could even hear a sharp cracking of its pearly cup.
Suppose that it should break!
He looked down, sick at heart! Through the cloud rifts he could see that
they were passing over a great, white line of mountain tops. Like
glistening needles they seemed, as he gazed down upon them. The sunlight
glanced dazzlingly along their snowy sides. Peterkin shuddered and
turned his eyes away.
“Oh, oh, look again!” chattered the toothless old farmer. “We are past
the mountains now. We are well above a brand-new valley, where a rushing
river tumbles and froths, and oh, look ... over there are the spires and
roofs of a city. Gray and silver they are, all gleaming and tall. And we
are flying straight toward them. Hurrah, now I shall get me a new set of
teeth!”
But long ere they reached the city, the sea-shell began to crack and
split, and to wabble from side to side. Once it dipped so far that both
of its passengers were almost tossed off into the air. The farmer clung
fast to Peterkin and Peterkin to the shell—and both of them gasped in
horror.
[Illustration]
“Oh, we are too heavy a load,” sobbed Peterkin. “I should never have
taken you along with me.”
“It’s not my fault!” stormed the old fellow. “It’s you who are so heavy.
You ate and ate until you weigh more than four fat men should weigh.
’Twas your appetite that will kill us both”—and he sucked his toothless
gums in rage.
“Ungrateful man!” cried Peterkin. “I am risking my life to make you
happy.”
“Yes,” retorted the other, “and I am losing mine because you were so
greedy!”
Therewith they fell to in wrath and cuffed each other and tore and
tussled, swaying to this side and that and jouncing up and down in
mighty thwacks.
“Out with you—out of the shell!” screamed the old farmer. And with that
he seized poor Peterkin under the arms, and—for all he was so
heavy—hurled him out into the air and down, down, down....
The sea-shell, lightened of the heavier part of its load, shot up higher
into the air. Then suddenly, with a noise like the crack o’ doom, it
burst into many pearly pieces. The farmer shot down, too, as if from a
gun. And down he came close behind Peterkin ... and landed, with a
fearful splash, into a fountain in the center of the market place.
As for Peterkin himself, you never could guess where he landed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
X
PETERKIN IN THE PALACE
[Illustration]
THROUGH an open skylight of the gilded dome of the palace. That’s where
Peterkin landed. Through the open skylight, upon a springy, cushiony
sofa. Up he bounced again, almost to the ceiling—then down to the marble
floor in a huddle. He lay there stunned and silent for a little while,
aching in every limb.
A little lady stood over him when he opened his eyes. She was peering
down at him with a white and frightened face—and Peterkin, for all his
dizziness, thought he had never seen so beautiful a maiden in the world.
For her startled eyes were blue—as blue as the sky had been, above the
clouds—and her curls were a golden shawl upon her shoulders. Under the
white of her lace and cambric gown, her little bare feet came peeping.
[Illustration]
Peterkin leaped to his feet, as best he could—for he was sore and stiff.
He made a handsome bow and smiled his prettiest smile, with his hand
over his heart, as if he were the gallant master of a dancing school.
But this only made the little lady’s eyes open the wider with surprise.
“And who are you? And where do you come from? And what do you want in
the bed-chamber of her Royal Highness, the Princess Clematis of the Four
Kingdoms?”
Peterkin was horrified. “Gracious me!” he stammered. “Where is her Royal
Highness Whatever-you-called-her? I must apologize to her for bursting
into her father’s palace so suddenly. Indeed, had I been able to, I
should have walked in very humbly by way of the kitchen door or through
the garden gate. But, don’t you see, I came so fast that I didn’t have
time to choose. So lead me to the princess and let me beg her pardon.”
The little lady rubbed one set of pink toes over the other in a bashful
fashion. Her laugh was as light as the rustle of green vines in the
spring.
“You are pardoned, merry stranger,” she said. “It is I, the Princess
Clematis, who bid you welcome to the palace of the Four Kingdoms.” Then
she held out her hand.
Poor Peterkin! His face grew red with flushes. He sank to his knee—in
spite of the big bruise on it—and planted a most courteous kiss upon her
rosy finger tips. And, if the truth be told, the princess smiled a
charming “how-do-you-do,” and found it very easy to forgive him.
But just at that moment, there came a loud rapping at the door and a
hubbub of angry voices and a clanking of swords and spears against the
walls.
“Ho, hola!” thundered someone without. “Open the door and let me in! I
shall find whoever dares to pop into my royal daughter’s chamber, by way
of the gilded dome. Ho, hola!”
At this, the little princess ran to fling open the door. And there, with
a torch in his hand and a host of armed sentries behind him, stood His
Majesty the King. Aye, no less a person than the monarch of the Four
Kingdoms himself. Peterkin knew him at once by the jeweled crown which
he wore atop his night-cap.
But before he could say a word, the little princess tripped to her
father’s side and commenced a sly tickling at his nightie, just where
his royal ribs ought to be. And under his crown, the King was just a
jolly old man after all. He tried very hard to purse his lips and
frown—but under such gentle tickling, there was nothing for it but to
burst into a great roaring of laughter. He laughed, laughed—until his
eyes were wet and his sides were aching. All of which put him in a
better mood and made him look more kindly upon his strange visitor. He
clapped the frightened Peterkin upon the back and called him a merry
dog, and ended by marching off with him, arm in arm, to the palace’s
spare bed-room to give him royal shelter for the night.
Thus it was that the princess, with a little wise tickling, saved a
stranger’s life and brought much joy to the Four Kingdoms. But you shall
have all that explained another time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XI
PETERKIN TELLS HIS TALE
[Illustration]
SO Peterkin went to bed in fine fashion. His couch was of cushioned
velvet and his pillows of down and silk. Over his head were hangings of
lustrous satin, with ostrich plumes and gilded crowns by way of
ornament. And when he woke in the morning, several slaves were kneeling
at the bedside, ready to bathe him and dress him and to do his slightest
bidding.
“Ahem!” thought Peterkin. “I must admit that, after all, this is a
better sort of thing than living in a pumpkin.”
Just as soon as he was dressed in a princely robe of purple linen with
gold clasps and jeweled collar, his slaves led Peterkin along a silvered
hallway, where marble pillars gleamed with wreaths of precious stones,
to a hall of gold. Here were a golden table and a host of golden
chairs—and behind each chair stood, waiting in respect, some member of
the royal court in brilliant costume. No sooner had Peterkin stepped
over the marble threshold than they set up a loud, wild cheering and
waved their silken napkins to bid him welcome.
[Illustration]
He took his seat at their head, in a chair which stood upon a golden
dais. Before him, in a glowing line, were platters of fruit, red-cheeked
and orange and purple. The smell of fragrant dishes steaming came to his
nostrils and sharpened his appetite. He seized a golden fork and reached
toward a pyramid of hot, brown muffins ... but oh, no! He was not to eat
for a little while.
For, just at this moment, who should enter the dining hall but the
little princess and the King himself! The King was in his robes of
state: ermine and velvet and cloth of gold. As for the princess, she had
given up her nightie for a gown of dainty blue on which a field of
slender lilies was embroidered in pale silk. Her golden hair was in a
braid now, with fluttering ribbons woven, like veins, amidst it.
Peterkin’s fork clattered down to the table at his first sight of her:
he had no thought of food from then on.
There was a great bending of knees and bowing of heads of the courtiers
and another round of cheers and fluttered napkins as His Majesty and his
fair daughter entered. But where do you think they sat? Why, one of them
at the right hand of Peterkin and the other at his left.
There was silence for many moments, during which the little princess
lowered her blue eyes and pretended not to see that Peterkin, in the
manner of all lovers, was staring eagerly at the rose of her cheeks and
the bow of her little red lips. Oh, no! the princess saw nothing—but she
was blushing, just the same.
“Hold!” said the King at length as he juggled a biscuit thoughtfully
upon the end of his diamond-studded scepter. “We shall eat no morsel or
a mouthful until we have heard your story, good stranger. So tell us it
now. If it pleases us, you shall dwell in our midst, in all the pomp and
comfort you have had this morning—and whatever you ask, for your
happiness shall be ours.” His Majesty shot a knowing smile at his lovely
daughter. “But if your tale fails to please us, if it tells of cowardice
instead of bravery, of weakness instead of strength—why, then, good
stranger, you shall be driven out of our palace, out of the Four
Kingdoms, with a tattered coat and an empty stomach—an exile in
disgrace. So, hem your throat and purse your lips and make a good
beginning of your tale.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
“‘Take him away!’ ordered the King”
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XII
PETERKIN’S FATE
[Illustration]
IT was an hour—a full and hungry hour—before Peterkin had told his tale.
For he told to the King and his courtiers all of the strange happenings
which had brought him floating from the pumpkin patch and flying in
through the bed-room window. And, all the while he spoke, he could see
the shadows of wrath grow darker on the brow of His Majesty and that the
little princess’s red mouth drooped sorrowfully. Peterkin faltered. He
wondered what was wrong with his tale. How could it offend His Majesty?
He went on slowly, until he came to the fearful experience he had had,
in his flying shell, with the toothless old farmer.
The King could stand it no longer. He banged his scepter down so hard as
to crack every butter-plate on the table. Up to his feet he sprang, his
eyes flashing lightning.
“Yes,” he rumbled, “yes, yes, yes! I might have guessed it! It was the
arch enemy of our Four Kingdoms that you brought into our midst. Yes,
yes, the Farmer Without Teeth! It is told in all our histories that he
will work us harm. Every witch in the land has warned me to beware of
him! And of you, too, you bothersome wayfarer! All the ancient history
books have prophesied your coming. All of them described exactly how you
would fly into my palace by way of the roof. This is just what they say:
“‘Beware the daring little fellow
Who lives within a house of yellow;
He sails the sky in a skiff of pearl—
Through your window he will whirl.
He will bring what harm can do:
He will make you endless rue.’”
When they heard this fateful rhyme, all of the courtiers shuddered with
terror. A little moan escaped from the lips of the princess. As for
Peterkin, his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth.
“Take him away!” ordered the King. “Away to the dungeon with him! And
send out my royal army in search of the toothless farmer, that arch
enemy of the Four Kingdoms. Away, to the deep, black dungeon!”
At once Peterkin was smothered in a great crowd of stalwart guards who
bound him in heavy chains, who lifted him away and out of the banquet
hall. The last thing he heard was the scream of the little princess.
Down, down, into the darkness of narrow cellars; down steep stairs of
crumbling stone, where the air was damp and smelling of old mosses;
down, still further down, they carried him. At last they came to a
little iron door in a wall of black rock. There was a creaking of a
rusty iron key in its lock, and a swinging of the little door on its
stiff hinges.
“In with him!” cried the guards—and they tossed poor Peterkin, chains
and all, into the furthermost corner of the cell. Then back went the
door on its hinges, and creak, went the key in its lock. There was a
faint sound of voices and footsteps dying in the distance ... and
Peterkin was alone!
A prisoner! Deep in the dark of the dungeon, he lay with his head in his
hands and sobbed to think of what a fate had come to him. What a fine
ending for his story!
But then he remembered how the Princess Clem had screamed when he was
snatched away—and he looked up and smiled. There was a tiny, barred
window to his cell; and the sunlight came slanting through it in a
narrow shaft, to make a little pool of brightness on the floor.
[Illustration]
For the longest while did Peterkin lie looking at it; and dreamed, as
all true lovers do, of what a pretty sight the princess was in her blue,
lilied gown, and ribbons in her braid!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XIII
THE TOOTHLESS ENEMY
[Illustration]
WHILE Peterkin lay dreaming in the dungeon, the King and his guards were
roaming the town in search of the toothless old farmer—that arch-enemy
of the Four Kingdoms. But though they searched until the sun was low in
the red west, they caught never a glimpse of him. He had found a secret
hiding place which none could guess.
He had fallen, you remember, into the fountain of the market place. And
what a splash it was! What a wetting!
Spluttering, dripping, he climbed out over the fountain’s rim. With a
trail of water streaming on the cobbled street behind him, he shambled
along into the shadow of a doorway and stood there shivering and
wringing his hands for many minutes. Then he wiped the water from his
eyes and looked about him.
What had become of Peterkin he did not know—nor did he care. For
Peterkin would be of no more use to him, now that he was in the King’s
city. He smiled a toothless smile to think of how completely he had
fooled that little wayfarer. Never a hint had he given Peterkin of the
wicked harm he meant to do to the Four Kingdoms—and of the sweet revenge
that he would take! Hee, hee! and he gnashed his gums in hate.
He glanced over at the gilded dome of the palace. Strange lights were
passing back and forth behind the darkened windows. Something had
happened ... the palace was astir! Ha, perhaps they had learned that he
was come into their city. Perhaps they were setting out at once to find
him and to pounce upon him. He had better flee somewhere and hide!
He started to step out into the street. Pit-a-pat, came someone’s
footsteps. A tall soldier, hurrying home to bed, clanked noisily ’round
the corner. The old man fled back into the hallway, until his back hit
against a door. The soldier went by, darting a suspicious glance into
the shadow. The farmer crouched back, back, until....
[Illustration]
The door flew wide! He had broken it open!
The soldier, at the noise, stopped and looked about him sharply, then
retraced his steps. There was nothing for it! The old farmer plunged
through the open door and slammed it shut behind him.
It was pitch black there. He groped and stumbled. His knee grazed
against a step. He climbed ... then another, and another and another,
until he was at the head of a steep flight of stairs. Then another
hallway, and another flight of stairs. His hands hit upon something
straight and sharp. It was a ladder. Up this he went, too, a rung at a
time, through a narrow hole in the ceiling.
A gust of wind caught him full in the face. Above him were the stars—and
he knew that he had reached the roof. He crossed it on tiptoe, for fear
of the crackle of the tiles under foot. A broken down, tumbled chimney
stopped him at the edge. Clinging to its loosened bricks, he could peer
down into the street and over the roofs of the houses of the
neighborhood. On the other side, the lights had died away in the palace
windows—and all was dark and still. Even the startled soldier had
disappeared.
He lay down at the bottom of the chimney. Slowly he drifted off to
sleep, shivering in his dampened clothes, and mumbling strange words
between his gums.
All the next day he lay there, dozing in the heat of the sun upon the
open roof. Every little while he raised himself on his elbow to look
down into the street. He saw the soldiers marching back and forth there,
so tiny in size, and heard their faint shouts as they halted and
searched each passerby.
So they were hunting for him, eh? Well, let them hunt! He would rest
here against the chimney pots until the sun had set and the wisp of a
new moon had risen ... and then! Ah, then for mischief!
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XIV
PETERKIN’S RESCUE
[Illustration]
AND meanwhile Peterkin, in the dungeon deep, was lying face down upon
the cold stone floor, trying his brave best to shut out from his head a
thousand wild fears and torments which did not belong there. What if he
should stay here in this dark cell for all his days? What if he should
never again see the sunlight or hear the rustle of the trees? What
should he do for food? And for drink?
He rose and walked up and down, up and down, across the little floor. He
scanned each wall closely. No, there was no escape possible. The door
was fast shut, and its iron bars firm. And the little window, through
which the day was fading quickly, was higher, by far, than he could
reach a-tiptoe. No, no escape!
The sky, through the window, was a little square of red now. Slowly it
faded and grew dark. In the center of it a single star winked into view.
Evening had come. And Peterkin must spend the night here, where the dew
was gathering in gray, cobwebby streaks upon the chilly walls.