toothless man.”
[Illustration]
“What a villain this toothless enemy must be!” thought Peterkin,
remembering all that had gone before.
“He was a genial farmer, it seemed to us,” continued the breathless
chief, as they whirled along the road, uphill, downhill, in their
ceaseless jig. “He lay down with us in the shade of the trees and looked
out across our fields and sucked his pipe through his toothless gums.
“‘Ah, this is rare comfort!’ he said in a cheery voice. ‘You seem to be
a happy valleyful here.’
“‘Oh, aye,’ I answered him, ‘we love to take our ease.’
“‘Do you love that better than all else?’ he asked me slowly.
“I stretched my arms in sleepy comfort and nodded back with a smile. He
looked at me slyly—ah, if I had only known what villainy was behind that
twinkle in his eye! He rose slowly to his feet.
“‘I shall show you all a pretty dance,’ he said, baring his gums. ‘Just
lie there in comfort—it will amuse you—yes, and give _me_ great
pleasure, too!’
“Then slowly, gently, he began to shuffle his feet. You would never have
thought that he could be so nimble. In and out and round-about he
pranced with fancy steps. It was so pleasant to be lying there in the
cool shade and watching.... Then it seemed as if he were inviting us to
join him. His brawny hands were beckoning; his smile said plainly: ‘Up,
up—come along up and dance at my side.’
“First one and then the other of us struggled to his feet, and fell into
a merry, jigging step. We laughed at the fun of it—not a laggard in the
valley but was dancing with him.
“We grew breathless and tired. We wanted to stop. _But we couldn’t!_
When the toothless man saw this, he burst into a cruel roar of laughter:
“‘You would take your ease, eh?’ he mocked. ‘You loved more than all
else to loll in the shade, eh? Well, henceforth you shall jig and dance
from noon till night and night till noon in a never-ending wandering.
Your ease is gone—and so’s your happiness! From now on, until I come
again to free you, you shall be known as the Valley of Dancing Legs. Hee
hee!’ and he was gone.”
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
“There came floating toward him in midair”
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXI
THE VALLEY OF UP-IN-THE-AIR
[Illustration]
THE chief of the dancing crew had scarcely finished his bitter story
when Peterkin swore to have revenge on the toothless enemy—and to rescue
these poor, tired folk in the bargain. Then he broke from their midst,
took a long draught from his magic bottle, and bounced clear over into
the next valley.
And the odd part of it was that he never touched ground there at all.
Instead, he was caught in a swirl of strong and steady breezes which
kept him aloft, floating, swimming through the air, high above the
ground.
“Well,” thought Peterkin, amazed, “I wonder if this is the fate of
everyone in this valley?”
Yes, sure enough, a few moments later, there came floating toward him in
midair a family of children and parents and grandparents. Behind them,
in a string, floated feather beds and kitchen tables, dishes, parlor
chairs and stoves—and a hundred and one other things of a household. It
was a home complete—but all up in the air!
Then other families floated past, with little tots in flying cradles and
gray-haired patriarchs in cushioned easy chairs with blankets tucked
about them. Wheelbarrows, topsy-turvy sheets and pillows, clothes and
jugs and mugs and a thousand other things in helter-skelter spun along
behind them in a far-away trail. Everyone, everything was up in the air.
Aye, even Peterkin!
“Who are you? And what are you doing up here?” he cried to the father of
one of the families which floated past.
“I’m Pater Familias,” came the answer, borne upon the wind. “And I and
my dear ones are up here because we can’t be down below, on the ground.”
“Well, why can’t you?”
The Pater Familias steered his whole crew, table, bed and pots and pans
and all, toward Peterkin. “We owe all our misery to——”
“What? To the toothless villain?” interrupted Peterkin.
The whole family groaned and the pots and pans leaped at the mention of
this evil person. “Yes, yes, the toothless villain—the enemy of the Four
Kingdoms!” wept the Pater Familias. “If it were not for him, we should
now be down on the ground where we belong, living most sensible lives in
our homes ... and not flying from horizon to horizon above the
tree-tops. We were happiest of the Kingdoms.
[Illustration]
“But one day, when we were folk of the earth, there came flying over our
heads this wicked, toothless farmer—anyhow, he told us he was a farmer.
He came down into our midst upon a grassy hill.
“‘Well, what do you love more than all else in this valley?’ he asked
us.
“‘Ho, that’s an easy question!’ we told him. ‘We love to keep our feet
upon the ground, as all good, sensible people should.’
“He thought for a sly moment. ‘But wouldn’t you love to fly?’ he asked
us. ‘Come, hop up into the air with me—up, up, as lightly as the birds
on wing. Come, just try it—it’s such a delightful sport, this flying!’
“Then, as if in obedience to his summons, a great breeze sprang up from
out of nowhere and swept us all off our feet and up, up—up to where he
was floating. And truly, for a few moments, it _was_ delightful sport.
But when we wanted to return to earth again—why, the farmer was gone—and
there was no returning! We had been tricked into the air and there we
must remain, floating, drifting, useless, helpless—we and our families
and all our neighbors, together with our household, tables, beds and
rags and tags, until this toothless fellow comes again to free us from
his cruel magic.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXII
PETERKIN IN A MUDDLE
[Illustration]
“AND so it is the toothless farmer who has caused all this misery in
each of the four valleys,” mused Peterkin, as he floated along at the
side of Pater Familias. “Well, here’s my solemn oath on it: I shall have
revenge on him, and force him to substitute joy for sorrow in each of
these stricken kingdoms.”
Then he bade farewell to the People-Up-in-the-Air and floated away on
the breath of the air—away to the boundaries of their land.
But it was not high mountains and snowy cliffs which hemmed this valley
from its neighbors. Instead, the land below grew flatter and more
yellow. Peterkin passed over wide, misty stretches of marsh and bogs; in
the distance he could hear the faint roar of waves. Yes, he was coming
to the sea. He was drifting fast toward that golden line of sands where
the ocean met the land in a jagged, wavering line of frothy white.
He must swoop down to earth now—else he might be carried out into
midwater. He must set foot upon the ground! But alas! try as he would,
he was still in the Land of Up-in-the-Air—and up in the air he must
stay!
[Illustration]
Then he thought of his precious bottle of the Water of Bounceability.
Perhaps, if he took a sip, he might be able to break the spell and to
leap to the marshes below. He would try it.
He took out the bottle and uncorked it. He lifted it to his lips and let
half of what remained in it gurgle down his throat. Then down he dived,
head first. Down, down—yes, the spell was broken! Down to earth, just
where the narrow strip of sands met the straggly marshes. He landed with
a mighty somersault, roly-poly, into the muddy bog. He rolled over and
over, crashing through the slimy rushes and the sand, to where the waves
were churning. He was sprawling face downward, dizzy and dazed. He
staggered to his feet, looking about him mournfully.
“All sea and sand and dreary marsh,” he sighed. “Over there, lost in the
blue of the sea, must be the city whence I set out—the city of Princess
Clem. Well, I shall have to finish my bottle of Water of Bounceability
now—and fly in that direction.”
So he groped in his pockets for the bottle. But oh, the saddest of all
things had happened now! He found the bottle broken—and the water all
spilled and wasted!
Aye, his fall had smashed the precious vial—and there was no more of the
magic liquid left to carry him home!
What now? Peterkin looked mournfully out across the blue sea, towards
where the city of the palace and the Princess Clem must lie; then he
looked back across the marsh, where poisonous mists were gathering in
low, curling clouds; he searched the shore in vain for the trace of
anything or anybody.... No, he was alone and helpless!
Ah, well, he did not know the great surprise which was in store for him!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXIII
THE LOST PUMPERKIN
[Illustration]
AND what do you think that surprise was?
The Pumperkin! Yes, his old, long-lost Pumperkin!
Peterkin caught his first, golden glimpse of it as it came up over the
distant horizon. It was floating in on the tide from the far mid-ocean.
It was dipping slowly, peacefully from one rippling wave to the next; it
came up to the shore at last, bobbing in the surf, then pitching down
with a last lurch into the soggy marsh.
Peterkin ran to it. Yes, there could be no doubt—it was his beloved
Pumperkin, his old home—his boat-house of a pumpkin which had been torn
away from him by the tempest wind.... He scaled up the side and peeked
in through the ceiling window. Yes, all was as he had left it. There was
his tumbled bed in the corner, there were the chairs, legs up. And
there, sure enough, was his ladder, with its top peeping up above the
edge of the roof. All that was missing was the cook-stove.
Peterkin climbed over the edge and down the ladder. He was safe now. He
was hopeful and happy. He had only to push and shove a little bit
and—away, away he went, bound for the home of his Princess Clem!
How good it seemed to be in his pumpkin house again! He wondered how
many seas it had passed over, whither it had wandered, where it would
lead him now. For, of course, there was no such a thing as steering
these roly-poly pumpkins: wherever it floated, Peterkin must float
along!
Away it sailed, over the waves, in the clutch of the lazy tide. Away,
until the marshes and the golden strand were lost in a hazy mist. Up one
wave and down the next, with the spray dashing in through the ceiling
window. How like the first few days it all was—those first few days of
the marvellous adventures. Peterkin smiled to think of them, and of how
many wonderful things had happened to him since first his house was torn
from his stem in the pumpkin patch.
[Illustration]
And now he was on his way to the most thrilling adventure of them all.
He was bound for the city from which he had been banished; he was
returning either to his happiness or to his death. As he looked out
across the waves, he wondered how it would all end; was he going to find
that toothless old villain? Was he going to bring back joy into the Four
Kingdoms, and a smile to the lips of their monarch? Was he going to win
the hand of the gracious Princess Clem? Or, after all, would the whole
search and struggle end with his being captured and put to death? Or
with the toothless villain murdering him? Well, he swore he should put
up a hard fight.... For he knew a way to bring this cruel enemy to his
knees. At least, he thought he did!
So he sat and thought it all out, while his pumpkin boat sailed closer
and closer to the other shore. Do you know what was on that shore?
Why, a city, of course! The very city for which our Peterkin so dearly
yearned. The city of the golden palace—and of the Princess Clem!
And the city where he would find the toothless farmer! Perhaps Peterkin
guessed that much ... for his cheeks grew a little white as he watched
the distant spires and golden dome, all agleam in the sunset.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXIV
OUT OF HIDING
[Illustration]
NOW we must return to the toothless old villain. Do you remember, we
left him dozing snugly in his hiding place atop the roof of a deserted
house? He was waiting for the gray dusk, when he might steal out upon
his wicked business. Perhaps it was the King himself he wished to harm,
this visit—but I can’t be positive of that.
Anyhow, when night had come and the streets were bare again of people
and little dim lanterns were swinging in the shadows of the balconies,
the old wizard crept down the stairs again, into the black vestibule.
Then out he darted—out into the street.
[Illustration:
“The windows in the palace were gleaming”
]
The windows in the palace, across the narrow street, were gleaming with
bright cheer and threw big yellow squares of light across the cobbled
gutters. The old villain, when he stood a-tiptoe, could see the gilded
walls and the jeweled ceilings. He caught just a glimpse of a corner of
the throne itself, all in a glory of precious stones and carvings. And
once he thought he could make out the shadow of a man all decked in
royal robes—and a crown on his head.
The wizard trembled and growled at this sight of his ancient enemy. He
raised his crooked finger threateningly in the dark and snarled a
terrible oath. Then he sped on, up one gloomy, lonely alley and down the
other, across wide boulevards and empty squares, dodging into the
shadows at every sudden creak of a shutter or rustle of a tree. Once a
company of soldiers marched past him—left, right, left, right, with
weary, lagging steps. He had just time to slink out of their way and
flee into a little court-yard, darker than the cloudy sky—blacker than
black itself. He could see nothing here. He groped, he stumbled, he felt
his way warily. Just ahead of him he heard a strange gurgling of water,
low and soft, as if from a distance. He stopped short, bewildered.
Then it seemed as if the tramp of those soldiers from whom he was
fleeing was growing louder—that they were coming nearer and nearer. Had
they discovered his whereabouts? Were they chasing him now?
[Illustration]
He could not keep his toothless gums from chattering. In fear he rushed
forward in the darkness. A couple of wild steps and—down he went! Down
through a great sewer hole! Down, down, below the street, into the
rushing, roaring water which was sweeping through the great brick tube
of the underground sewer!
Whiz! What a roar! Whiz! What a rush and dash and smother of gurgling,
thundering water! The old magician was swept swiftly along with the
stream. He sank, rose again, coughed, sputtered, sank again. Then, as he
rose a second time, he took a long breath and lay quite still. Yes, he
was floating! He would not drown here, anyhow!
As he sped along, lying on his back atop the rushing water, with his
gums tight shut and his eyes wide open to the dark, he wondered where he
was floating. Where was this water rushing? Where did the great sewer
end?
Then, of a sudden, the roar of the water grew louder than ever. He shot
out, out into space—and then down, down, into the gushing spray of a
waterfall. Then down, deep down, under the surface—and up again. He beat
his hands frantically about in the churning froth. He shook the water
from his eyes. Where had the great tube emptied him? Where was he?
Why, in the sea, to be sure—in the sea!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXV
A PRECIOUS PRISONER
[Illustration]
IT was late in the night when Peterkin’s pumpkin boat came riding into
the city’s calm harbor. The reflections of the stars which had winked up
into the sky were dotting the black water with melted gold. Red and
green lights from the prows of sleeping boats and piers lay glowing in
the easy tide. Not a sound—excepting the soft slap of little waves along
the bottom of the drifting Pumperkin.
Peterkin, as he stood on his ladder’s top rung, looked out across the
harbor toward the huddled houses, gray and looming, with dim lit window
panes blinking through the dark. Over the roofs he could make out the
form of the huge dome of the palace—and he knew that there was the room
of his princess. Aye, there was Princess Clem!
Could she be asleep? The hour was so late ... perhaps her nurse had
tucked her, long ago, into her warm and comfy bed. But, no—oh, no! For,
suddenly, he caught the gleam of a little light from the window just
below the dome. Yes, he was sure it was from the princess’s window. She
must be yet awake. She must still be watching—be waiting—for his return,
as she promised she would do, and his heart gave a great throb for joy.
His Pumperkin drifted slowly in toward the shore. He heard a strange
roaring, angry and deep. It was the rush of water he knew; perhaps some
sewer, speeding its underground course and emptying itself, at the last,
into the sea.
In the midst of the rumble of water, he thought he heard a short splash;
something dark went down in the white froth of the water, then rose to
the surface near his boat—then sank and rose again not an arm’s length
away. Peterkin peered over the edge to see what it was. He gasped and
almost shrieked; it was a man! He reached down, made a wild grab at the
floating jacket—pulled, tugged, hoisted—ouf! and he had the drowning one
inside his Pumperkin. He gazed down into the face of the rescued. A loud
cry escaped him. It was the Toothless Farmer!
[Illustration]
Yes, the toothless old villain—the arch-enemy whom he had set out to
find! And you and I know how it happened that this old farmer came to be
plunging into the sea so suddenly and without warning.... But Peterkin
didn’t!
The toothless one had an unlucky time of it, didn’t he? For here he was
in the very clutches of the hero—at the mercy of Peterkin, whom he had
played so false—Peterkin, who had resolved revenge upon him for all the
wrongs he had done in the Four Kingdoms!
No sooner did he open his eyes than he saw heroic Peterkin above him,
fists clenched and anger in his eyes.
“Ow, ow,” chattered he, his red gums bobbing with fear and chill, “don’t
threaten me! Why do you clinch your fists at me, eh? I’ve never met you
before, have I?”
Peterkin laughed scornfully. “What a lie! Don’t you remember who it was
who brought you into these Four Kingdoms, not so long ago, astride of a
flying shell? Don’t you remember whom you tried to fling off, down to a
crashing death? What! don’t remember me?”
The old man grew green with fright. He wrung his thin, crooked fingers.
“I—I thought—I thought you were dead,” he moaned. “I didn’t dream of
your escaping death ... dear, oh dear, I suppose you’ll kill me now, eh?
Well, just let me tell you my story, first—oh, please, let me tell
it—please, please, please!”
And, of course, who could resist such pleading? Certainly not Peterkin,
who folded his arms sternly and waited for the end of the tale.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXVI
THE VILLAIN’S STORY
[Illustration]
“ONCE,” began the old villain, “I was as young and as happy-hearted as
you are, stranger. For I was handsome, rich and powerful. I was
noble—aye, more than noble—for I was a prince of the court of the Four
Kingdoms. I was the son of the King’s older brother—and some said that
I, not he, should be the king upon the jeweled throne.
“This thought was like a flame to me. It burned and flared within my
mind in jealous heat; I came to wish for my royal cousin’s death, so
that I might succeed him to the honor of all honors of the kingdoms. I
took a secret oath that ere I grew much older, I should murder him. Hee,
hee, that’s the extraordinary sort of a villain I was!
“But I had one thing of which I was more proud than all the world: my
set of teeth! A set of white, sharp, glistening teeth! They were more
splendid than the teeth of any other nobleman at court. They were finer
even than the King’s own teeth. They were my constant pride, my dearest
joy! With them I could eat all the rarest things of the kitchen. I could
chew tin pans and pots; I could crumple pewter kettles; I could crunch
thick venison steaks and the horns of a full grown cow. My teeth were my
greatest power—and my joy!
“But all the while my heart was black against my royal cousin. I coveted
his crown, I longed for his scepter. My jealousy grew until I could hide
it no longer. I made a journey into a far distant forest, where a famous
witch lived in her cave. And there I dwelt for many months, learning all
her wicked magic. She taught me how to curse whole valleys of people—how
to bring sorrow to hundreds. But alas! she could not teach me how to
kill my royal cousin.
“‘When shall I be King?’ I asked her each morning.
“And every eve, after a day of pondering over her caldron, she would
answer: ‘When you have learned to kill man with the joy of your life’
[Illustration]
“Then at last I understood. What could possibly be the joy of my life
excepting these, my beautiful teeth? I must return and _bite_ my royal
cousin to death!
“I hurried back to the Four Kingdoms. I met the King in his gilded
dining hall. Before his host of cowardly courtiers, I threw myself upon
him and sought to bury my teeth into his breast.
“But ah, under his velvet robes, he was wearing a coat of strong steel
links. My teeth crunched against them—and could go no further. I fell
back dismayed. A hundred men—courtiers and guards—were upon me, pinning
me to the marble floor.
“‘Take him away!’ cried the King, my enemy. ‘Take him away, and pull out
all his teeth!’
“And one by one, in the dark dungeon, they pulled out of my gums the joy
of my life—my white, my sharp, my glistening teeth. Think of it! Think
of the pain, of the deep shame!
“But I swore a deep revenge, and when I was banished, I went to live as
a simple farmer in that neighboring valley where first you beheld me. I
have spent all the rest of my toothless, joyless days in taking terrible
revenge upon this cousin King—this royal wretch who stole my proud
possessions. I have brought sorrow into each of his Four Kingdoms, and I
shall kill him—him and his pretty daughter, Princess Clem! Hee, hee!” He
gave an evil chuckle and gnashed his gums in hate.
Peterkin shuddered. “And is there nothing will satisfy you?” he pleaded.
“Yes!” snapped the old man. “A new set of teeth! Teeth as white and
sharp and glistening as the set they robbed me of. A new set of teeth—or
else revenge!”
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
“She strained her eyes to watch the distant harbor”
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXVII
IN THE CITY
[Illustration]
WHILE the toothless villain was finishing his cruel story, the dawn
began to flicker in the eastern sky. And, beyond the gray piers, in the
houses of the city, the early risers were already up and stirring. Thin
wisps of smoke commenced to float up out of the houses’ chimneys to
prove that cooks and housewives were already at their ovens.
The dome of the palace was beginning to flash with the first rays of the
sun. Just beneath it, the curtains of the little princess’s window were
flapping strangely. It almost seemed as if she were standing behind them
and peeking out upon the city’s roofs, as far as the harbor beyond.
Aye—and so she was! With her fair curls tumbling to the clean, sweet
morning breeze and her little white nightie fluttering softly, she
strained her eyes to watch the distant harbor. Perhaps she saw something
strange there—something she had never seen before in all the Four
Kingdoms. Perhaps she had guessed it was the Pumperkin—and that in its
big yellow cup her wandering lover had drifted home again, in triumph
and in glee.
* * * * *
Of course, her nurse was very shocked to find a royal princess with her
head far out of the window; but Princess Clem never bothered to explain.
She laughed and she laughed all the while her many maids were dressing
her—and indeed they had not seen her in so happy a mood for many a weary
week.
“Put on my prettiest gown,” she bade them. “Dress me in my gown of pale
blue silk—the one on which white lilies are embroidered, tall and
shimmering. And run blue ribbons through my golden braids—ribbons as
blue as my eyes, and deck them with pearls as white as my teeth.”