_Why Old Nancy Slept through the Sunset Hour_
There was no sound from within the cottage, and the three waited
impatiently for a second or two, then Glan rapped again more loudly.
The sound of his knuckles against the little brown door rang sharp and
clear in the quiet of the evening. They waited. Glan called “Nancy!”
and “Is any one in?” but as there was still no answer he lifted the
latch, and discovered that the door was unbolted. He pushed it open.
They found themselves in an old-fashioned, low-ceilinged room, full of
shadows cast by the flickering firelight. The trees outside the house
excluded the faint sun-glow, so that the room was dim and nothing could
be clearly defined in the farther corners. A quaint red-brick fireplace
took up nearly one side of the room, and in a chair by the hearth there
sat a huddled-up figure.
“Nancy! Old Nancy!” said Glan, breathlessly, stepping further into the
room. “What’s the matter, Nancy?”
The figure remained motionless. He bent over it, shaking it gently by
the shoulder.
“There’s something queer about this. By thunder!” he exclaimed, peering
closer. “She ... No, she’s not ... she’s breathing!” He stood back and
gazed at the sleeping figure earnestly. “It’s not a natural sleep,
though. I don’t like it at all. If I’m not greatly mistaken the Grey
Pumpkin has had something to do with this.”
“What shall we do?” said Molly, in an awed whisper.
“If it is any way possible, we _must_ wake her somehow. Nancy! Nancy!
Wake up!” cried Glan, and he shook her arm again; there was such
despair in his voice that the children took courage to move toward the
sleeping Nancy to try and help him.
The light from the fire shed a dull red glow over Old Nancy, and
looking at her Molly thought she had the sweetest face she had ever
seen. Though much wrinkled, her skin was clear and her expression full
of kindliness and quiet strength. Her hair was pure white and peeped
out from beneath a snowy mob cap.
“Oh, do please wake up,” said Molly, laying her hand on Old Nancy’s lap.
Old Nancy stirred, turned her head from side to side and gave a great
sigh; then she slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze travelled from Molly to
Jack, and then on to Glan. She sat up. Then passed her hand across her
eyes and stared, dazed, in front of her for a moment. Her glance came
back to Molly.
“Who are you?” she said, in a low voice. “And what’s the matter?”
It was Glan who answered.
“The sun has set,” he said gravely, “and you were asleep.”
With a cry Old Nancy started to her feet.
“No, no, Glan; it can’t be true!” she exclaimed. “Oh, what have I done!
What have I done! It cannot be sunset yet.”
She crossed hurriedly to the window and peered through. A glance at the
darkening countryside was sufficient. She turned away, and creeping
back to her chair sank into it and buried her face in her hands.
There was a dead silence in the room. A cinder fell out of the fire on
to the red hearth.
“Well, well.” Glan cleared his throat and tried to speak cheerfully.
“What isn’t well must be made well, you know. No good crying over spilt
milk, Old Nancy. Come, come, snap your fingers at adversity, you know.
We must all put our heads together and see what we can do. What’s the
best thing to do first?” he smiled bravely, and Jack and Molly took
heart and things looked brighter, although they scarcely knew what all
the trouble meant.
“Is it back then?” asked Old Nancy, raising her head.
“The Pumpkin?—yes, it’s back,” said Glan.
“Then there’s not a moment to be lost,” said Old Nancy firmly, and with
an effort she pulled herself together and sat up straight.
“How did it happen—your going to sleep?” inquired Glan.
“I don’t know,” said Old Nancy, with a puzzled frown. “Never have I
missed doing the spell at sunset. I think I must have been ... drugged.
The Pumpkin must still have a few followers in the country—perhaps one
of them drugged me—but I don’t know how they did it, they must have
chosen the opportunity carefully, so that I fell asleep just before
sunset.... I remember looking out and seeing the sun about half an hour
before sunset time: and then I sat down for a few minutes ... and I
don’t remember anything more. When did the Pumpkin come back?”
“About half an hour ago,” said Glan.
“He came through the tree,” said Jack, “and we followed him.”
“You are from the Impossible World, then,” murmured Old Nancy, “where
I sent the Pumpkin. But now—this will be the Impossible World again
soon, I fear, unless——” She looked earnestly into the faces of the
two children, then she smiled faintly. “Will you stay and help us,” she
asked. “Help us to make our world Possible again?”
“We’ll stay. Rather!” began Jack.
“Only—only—what about Mother?” Molly interrupted.
“I will tell you the history of the Pumpkin first of all,” said Old
Nancy; “and then you shall decide whether you will stay and help us, or
go home. If you decide to stay I will see that your Mother is not made
anxious about you, until your work is finished and you return to her.
But, meanwhile, Glan, what are you going to do?”
“Father has already gone to arouse the City,” said Glan. “I think I
will follow him and see what I can do; then I will come back and see
what the little lady and her brother have decided. But before they can
do a thing they must hear the Pumpkin’s story from you.”
So saying he took off his cap with a flourish and opened the door.
“Keep up heart. Laugh at misfortune, remember, and—tss—— We shall
win!” he cried, his fat face all a-smile; and he was gone.
“Sit down on the rug,” said Old Nancy, “and tell me, first of all, what
you know about the Pumpkin, and then I will tell you why it is the
Pumpkin is so dreaded in our country, and how he came to be what he is.”
So Jack and Molly sat down on the rug, and after relating what they
knew of the Pumpkin and how they happened to come across him, they
listened while Old Nancy told them the following story, fascinated by
her low, sweet voice, and her kind eyes.