THE MAGIC BOOK
Wendell had counted on having a good deal of sport with the Cloak of
Darkness and the Cap of Thought, wearing them around the house and
outdoors, and even in school, but he was a bit afraid to risk any
accident to them before the eventful Saturday. So he locked them
securely in his chiffonier until that morning.
It was usually very hard to get him to wake up Saturday mornings, but
this Saturday was an exception. He was up with the lark,--if there had
been any,--ate his breakfast before the rest of the family came down,
and was soon on his way over the now familiar route, to the Brookline
house. He had timed it nicely. The Giant was just leaving as he got
there; and Wendell, only too well aware that his scent was now
well-known to the Giant, scuttled down a side street until the monster
was out of sight.
Into the familiar kitchen once more, and all through the house, went
Wendell. The mother and daughter were doing the upstairs work and
Wendell sat around with them for some time, following a confusion of
most uninteresting household details that ran through their minds.
At length he was repaid.
“I guess I’ll get my warm quilt out for the winter,” thought the girl.
“It’s getting cold these nights. Now, _where_ did Mummer put that attic
key? If I ask her, she probably won’t tell me, just to be mean. I’ll
hunt around, instead.”
Presently, the Witch went downstairs, and her daughter took that
opportunity to look through her mother’s bureau drawers; and after some
search, she found it.
“I’d better wait,” she thought, “till Mummer goes marketing. Then I’ll
put the key back again and say nothing about it.”
But she had no sooner gone downstairs, herself, than Wendell took the
key and unlocked the attic door. He took the precaution of locking it
again on the inside, so that there could be no intrusion while he was
searching for the Book. He chuckled to think how chagrined the Ugly
Stepsister would be when she went to look for the key and thought her
mother had changed its hiding-place.
The attic was a large unfinished room with peaked roof. It was only in
the middle that one could stand upright. There was some old furniture
and there were several trunks. Wendell tried the trunks first. One was
locked, with the key still in the lock, and opened easily. And there,
inside, among a store of pillow cases and towels, lay what was
undoubtedly the Magic Book. It was as easy as that!
The Book was about as large as Webster’s Unabridged. It was bound in
very dark, smooth leather, all worn and frayed at the corners, and
fastened with a heavy iron clasp. It did look heavy, just as the Pixie
had said, but Wendell seized it firmly, and attempted to lift it with an
energy that almost pulled his arms from their sockets. For the Book
didn’t lift a fraction of an inch. It might have been soldered to the
trunk.
“My! It _is_ weighty! He was right!” gasped the boy.
He tried again, and again; but the book must have weighed tons. There
was no lifting it.
Wendell considered the matter. There must be something he could do,--but
what? Of course, he could go home and tell the Pixie and get changed
into something strong,--a yoke of oxen, or an elephant. But this was
Saturday. The Pixie had done Monday’s fractions Friday night, and
probably wouldn’t be around again till Monday night. Well, well, what a
disappointment!
He sat down on the edge of the trunk and examined the volume. There was
no title on the cover. He undid the clasp and opened the Book at random.
Yes, this was undoubtedly it. The quaint old lettering showed it, the
long strange words. He spelled out what seemed a perfectly meaningless
sentence.
Whish-sh-sht! A prolonged rushing noise like a sky-rocket, and there
stood before him a strange and uncouth figure. It was a man somewhat
above average height, wearing a costume that Wendell thought was
oriental, though he had never seen anything like it before.
“Who are you?” faltered Wendell.
“I am the Slave of the Charm,” replied the stranger. “I have answered
your summons. What are your commands?”
“I don’t quite understand,” gasped Wendell. “Please explain.”
“You said the magic words that summon me,” repeated the apparition. “I
am here to do your bidding.”
“Oh, I see,” said Wendell. “Good work! Please take this Book home for
me.”
“I obey,” returned the stranger. He lifted the Book on his shoulder,
turned down the stairs and vanished straight through the locked door.
Wendell scrambled after him, first drawing around him the Cloak of
Darkness, which he had thrown off. Not being a magic apparition,
himself, he was forced to unlock the door to get through, and this
delayed him a moment. So he caught just a glimpse of the genie,
vanishing through the front door without opening it. But the witch and
her daughter had seen him go and seen the Book on his shoulder; and the
daughter’s mind was whirling like a merry-go-round, as Wendell easily
perceived.
However, it was quite otherwise with her mother. The former witch sat on
the lowest step of the stairs, with such a happy and peaceful look that
Wendell hardly knew her. “Free at last!” she was exulting
[Illustration: “I AM THE SLAVE OF THE CHARM,” REPLIED THE STRANGER]
inwardly. “I have lost the Cloak and the Cap and now the Book, and at
last I am disenchanted.” Wendell was glad she felt so good about it. He
stayed invisible, never-the-less, and hurried out after his slave, who
was now nowhere in sight. His trail could be followed, however, by a
long line of small boys, stringing out after him as if they were running
to a fire. As it seemed impossible to overtake him on foot, Wendell took
an electric for home. Evidently, his slave was there before him, to
judge from the excitement that still reigned among the boys on his
block. “Say, Wendell,” they hailed him, “you ought to ’a seen the guy
that just went into your house!”
Wendell found the front door intact, and went up to his room. There on
his study table lay the Book. The slave had vanished. Wendell’s first
impulse was to read it from cover to cover, but he was mindful of the
Pixie’s warning. He had already had one demonstration of the wonderful
power and immediate operation of its charms. This once, it had turned
out very neatly for him, but he might not be so fortunate another time.
So he opened the Book very gingerly and pressed his lips tight together,
for fear of being betrayed by his intense interest into reading some
powerful and dangerous passage aloud.
The first thing that Wendell noticed was that it was all written or
printed by hand and was evidently the work of different persons; that
is, the letters, some in print, some in script, changed their character
from page to page, and the ink was in varying degrees of paleness, as if
the transcription had been made at different epochs. Wendell observed
also that the pages of paper differed. In fact, some of them were not
paper at all. There were pages of very thin leather of different shades,
and a sort of tough fibrous substance (that was parchment, had Wendell
known it), and some strips of bark, like bark of the birch or ash. And
there were paper leaves, also, but yellowed and old, none of it modern.
The Book was evidently a bound collection of old manuscripts, brought
together from what sources, by what means, and through how many ages,
the boy could not even guess. But it was a fascinating thing for
magic-loving Wendell to examine, even though much of it was
unintelligible, and much more of no possible use to Wendell. He turned
the brittle, fragile pages with the utmost care, fingering each at the
right-hand top corner, and turning the entire page with his flat hand,
very, very carefully.
The titles of the chapters, or charms, or whatever they were, delighted
him beyond measure:--
“HOW TO TURN WOOD INTO SILVER.
HOW TO TURN BASE METALS INTO GOLD.
HOW TO MAKE IRON FLOAT.
TO CHANGE AN INFANT PRINCE INTO A HUMMING BIRD.
TO CUT OFF A DRAGON’S HEAD.
HOW TO UNDERSTAND THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS.
HOW TO MAKE A FLYING SHIP.” (“Huh! Magic aviation!” commented Wendell.)
“THE EASIEST WAY TO DISENCHANT A DUMB PRINCESS.
HOW TO MAKE WINGED SANDALS.
SOME TRIED METHODS FOR KILLING GIANTS.”
“There you are, Wendell, my boy,” said a friendly voice, and Wendell
looked around and found that the Pixie was looking over his shoulder at
the Book.